


we were in screaming color

by ipretendtobesane



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Anal Sex, First Kiss, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Fuckbuddies, Light Angst, M/M, but then he leaves! and it gets cute and fluffy, depictions of violence, terry is in this in the beginning and its rough
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-05 14:54:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18830938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ipretendtobesane/pseuds/ipretendtobesane
Summary: The grass was green, the sky was blue, Mickey’s hair was black, and these were all things he should not be aware of. Not at his age, at least. Colors, his mother always said, were something special. Something to cherish once you found the person that made your whole world explode like a technicolor dream. Mickey never got it, he’s been able to see colors his whole life, proudly telling everyone he knew that his favorite color was green and that he hated the color pink because Mandy always wore it and he was nine years old and had a thing for picking on his little sister.orthe one where ian and mickey live in a world where when you meet your soulmate your world explodes in color. only thing is- they've both been able to see color their whole lives. they're destined to be, anyways.





	we were in screaming color

**Author's Note:**

> sorry the summary is so shit! anyway i wanted to warn u guys for triggers that it does talk about the kash/ian relationship, there is some violence and some pretty graphic depictions of if so don't read it if thats something that triggers u!! it's all in the first half tho if u wanna skip to the end for some reason aha. anyways enjoy!!

The grass was green, the sky was blue, Mickey’s hair was black, and these were all things he should not be aware of. Not at his age, at least. Colors, his mother always said, were something special. Something to cherish once you found the person that made your whole world explode like a technicolor dream. Mickey never got it, he’s been able to see colors his whole life, proudly telling everyone he knew that his favorite color was green and that he hated the color pink because Mandy always wore it and he was nine years old and had a thing for picking on his little sister. 

He always wondered why it was a big deal. Why sometimes he’d be walking down the street when two people would stop and run into each other's’ arms, tears streaming down their faces as the world came to life around them. Mickey thought it was kind of stupid. It was just colors, what could possibly be the big deal?

The only person who got it was his best friend, Ian. Him and Ian had been friends for a short while, but Mickey liked that they could draw together and when he asked for the red head to pass him a brown crayon he knew what it was.

He met Ian on the little league baseball team. It was after a game had ended and their team had lost hopelessly that Mickey found Ian sitting on the curb trying to wipe the dirt off his uniform.

“Why do uniforms have to be white? Why couldn’t they be dark blue or something so that the stains wouldn’t show up so easily?”

Mickey’s eyes bugged out of his head. Everytime  _ he  _ complained about the color of something all of his friends (really- his brothers) would get an incredibly confused look on their faces and explain to Mickey that what he was saying was purple was actually a shade of grey and what he was saying was yellow was also just a shade of grey. Mickey would just roll his eyes at them, he knew he was right and that it was just everyone else being stupid. But sometimes he felt a little left out, like when the kids at school would talk and daydream about one day being able to see the world the way it really was, wondering out loud which shade of grey translated to what color.

Mickey never got that, and he never would, but it seemed like,  _ finally _ , someone else saw everything the way he did.

He still hadn’t said anything, and the little boy complaining about the cleanliness of his baseball uniform had turned around to see him standing behind him, a shocked look on his face, and sighed.

“I know, I shouldn’t be able to know what dark blue looks like. But I swear I’m not lying, I was just born this way, I guess. My brother says it’s because my brain is wired wrong and he’s really smart so he’s probably right.”

“What, so seeing colors makes you retarded all of a sudden?”

“No, not wired wrong like that. Just like how some people have red hair, like me, and others don’t. It’s just a part of who I am, I guess.”

Mickey was silent for a while. He doesn’t know why, he usually jumps at the chance to let people know how grown up he is for being able to identify that the logo on the corner store is blue and red. Colors and soulmates were for adults, and Mickey loved being able to brag about it, but, for some reason, he was hesitant to let the small boy with freckles know that it’s a part of who  _ he  _ is, too.

“Me too,” he told him eventually, and the silence had stretched for so long that the boy beside him didn’t even know what he was agreeing with.

“Huh?”

“I can see them too. I know your eyes are green and that mine are blue and I didn’t need you to tell me that you have red hair because I can see that and I’m not stupid.”

Mickey regrets not keeping his mouth shut, because Red turned to him with the most amazed expression on his face, his green frog-ish eyes popping out of his head, his mouth turned up in an insane grin, showing off his missing front teeth.

Mickey thinks he looks like an idiot.

“ _ Really?  _ That’s so cool! We have to become friends now, you’re the only other person in the whole wide world that gets it. I’m Ian. Ian Gallagher.” The kid,  _ Ian _ , stuck his hand out for Mickey to shake like it was the most normal thing in the world for a seven year old to introduce himself with a handshake. But the kid did say he was a Gallagher, and there’s nothing  _ not  _ weird about that family.

“Mickey,” he answered, taking the hand offered to him and shaking it firmly. Just because he thought it was weird didn’t mean he wasn’t going to do it. Ian’s hand was smaller than his, but not by much. His dad always said he had ‘a bitch’s hand’, never teaching Mickey how to shoot a gun or hotwire a car, but his mother assured him they were good hands, strong and capable. His dad disagreed, but so long as his mother was there to defend him, there wasn’t much Terry Milkovich could do. No one in the world was stronger and more badass than his mother.

“Milkovich?” Ian asked, usually the word had a certain  _ tone  _ to it- disgust, fear, or, in some cases, usually involving his father’s fist and the face of some poor fucker, anger. The way Ian said it, though, it held none of that. It was just a name, a name he certainly knew the meaning of- you don’t grow up in their neighborhood not knowing who they were-but it didn’t seem to bother him.

Mickey nodded, and Ian smiled.

“That’s cool. Mandy’s in my class at school. She’s really funny. You two kind of look alike!”

“No we don’t, shut up.”

“Yeah you do. It’s okay everyone says my little sister looks the most like me. It’s just because she also has red hair and freckles, we don’t really look that alike.” It was then that said little girl came running up to them followed by an older girl that looked to be about fifteen.

Ian ran his hands through the little girl’s hair, kissing the top of her head before smiling at her. “Hey Debs! Did you run all the way over here? By your _ self?”  _ The seven year old exclaimed incredulously, trying to get a laugh out of the little girl.

“Sorry we’re late, Lip was in a mood. I couldn’t get him to take care of Carl until I threatened to hide all the video game controllers. Who’s this?” The girl, Ian’s sister, probably, asked, nodding to where Mickey was sitting beside her brother. He tried to fold in on himself, she was in high school, or eighth grade at the very least, and there was no way she didn’t know the Milkovich family. He had brothers around her age and, to put it plainly, they were assholes. The older Gallagher didn’t seem to show any recognition for Mickey, though, so he figured he was okay.

“That’s okay, Fi, I was talking to Mickey. He sees colors, too!” Ian told her happily. Mickey doesn’t know where he was pulling his good mood from. They live in the southside and they were sitting on the curb by the shittiest baseball field in all of Illinois, in the hot ass summer weather, in their dirty little league uniforms after losing a game. Mickey was pretty sure the red stain next to him on the asphalt was blood. None of that seemed to bother Ian, though.

“Nice to meet ya, Mickey, I’m Fiona, Ian’s older sister.” She smiled at him warmly and Mickey was starting to think he quite liked the Gallaghers, even the three year old who was banging her dirty little hands on his knee. “Where are your parents?” she asked looking around the empty field.

“I don’t know,” he answered simply. Knowing his family, his dad was probably out punching the shit out of some fag in an alley, his brothers were off somewhere doing a drug run, and his mom was probably high at home looking after Mandy. It’s not unlikely that they just forgot Mickey wasn’t with them.

Fiona took pity on him, and Mickey was about to get up and leave. He hated when people looked at him like they didn’t know what to do about Mickey’s shit hole of a life. He hated feeling like he was less than someone else, hated that people felt like he needed their charity.

Fiona’s pity didn’t last very long, though, it was so short lived Mickey almost thought he imagined it. Before he knew she was taking both his and Ian’s hands and pulling them up in one swift move.

“That sucks. You can come over, if you want. I’m pretty sure we have enough left over pizza from last night for everybody. Let’s go.” Even though it was an offer, she left no room for Mickey to refuse. He looked around the corner, trying to see his if his Dad’s beat up blue car was on its way to pick him up, but the street was completely barren, save for the homeless man on the next corner by the deli.

So Mickey shrugged and followed the Gallaghers to the house that would eventually become just as much a home to him as the one he grew up in.

+++

Him, Ian, and Lip were sitting on the old couch in the Gallagher living room. Lip and Mickey were playing a videogame where they got to build the character they played with and Lip was making some… frankly awful color choices for his character.

“Lip, that looks terrible,” Ian tells him matter-of-factly from where he’s sitting in the corner of the couch. Ian’s back was resting on the arm rest and his feet were squished under Mickey’s thighs to keep his toes from freezing in the cold of the Chicago winter. Why he doesn’t just wear socks, Mickey doesn’t know, but he doesn’t mind the constant press of Ian against him. Mickey likes the way being near Ian makes his body itch and his insides feel like they’re glowing but he doesn’t like to think about it, only lets himself admit to it when the moon is the only thing up in the sky and the whole world has fallen asleep.

“Ian, it looks fine.”

“You gave the guy green hair and purple sideburns, man, it looks fucking awful.”

“Shut the fuck up before I beat you with the controller.”

It’s the brothers” banter that brings Mickey back to the present. He looks at the TV screen where his and Lip’s characters are side by side and, yeah, Lip’s looks fucking awful.

“He’s right, dude, your guy looks like a fucking pussy.” Ian high fives Mickey, glad to have someone on his side. As if the fifteen year old would agree with Ian’s crabby older brother over his best friend. Besides, purple and green look awful together, and since Lip can’t see the colors it’s up to him and Ian to tell him when he’s doing a shit ass job.

“Of course you’d side with your boyfriend over me,” Lip is quick to remark, causing Mickey to jab his elbow in his stomach. The other boy curls forward in pain and tries to slap Mickey but he moves away before Lip can hit him.

“That’s what you get for sayin’ I’m a fag.”

The rest of the afternoon goes by with minimal fighting. Lip leaves eventually, having gotten an invitation from some of his new high school buddies to go out drinking. Mickey knows Ian secretly worries one of his siblings is gonna end up turning out like Frank: drunk, high, and completely fucking useless. Mickey does good at reminding him that he’s just a high schooler who wants to fit it with his friends, that it doesn’t all of a sudden make him an alcoholic asshole. But it still scares Ian.

Mickey’s not that much of a dick that he ever thinks to remind Ian that it could very well be him, he’s just too young to start drinking that often.

They’re lying on their backs in the van in Ian’s backyard. The van is old and shitty and does nothing to keep the cold wind out, but Fiona had brought a boy home and they didn’t feel like listening to her bed rattle against the wall.

And, besides, the van was nice. It was old as fuck and the red paint on the outside was chipped and faded, the mattress they had inside had probably been fucked on more times than Mickey cared to know, and the whole thing smelled faintly of piss, probably from the copious amounts of times Frank had done exactly that inside it, but it was quiet and a shred of solace from the chaos that was everything else in their neighborhood.

Ian and Mickey were lying closer than they needed to, if Mickey moved his hand just a hair he’d be able to brush his fingers against the knuckles of Ian’s hand but no matter how much he wanted to, he knew he couldn’t. There were some rules that couldn’t be broken, not in the South Side and especially not while his dad was alive and out of prison.

None of that ever stopped him from thinking about it (it didn’t stop Ian, either, but Mickey didn’t know that).

After a few beats of silence passed, Ian decided to ask him a question.

“Would it really be that bad?” Mickey didn’t know what he was talking about so he hummed in response, waiting for Ian to continue. He was minutes away from falling asleep and he wanted Ian to say whatever he needed to say as fast as possible so Mickey could turn over and go to bed.

“Would it really be that bad to be, y’know…  _ gay?”  _ And so much for going to sleep. Mickey shot up and looked down at Ian who was holding eye contact with him steadily, but Mickey could see the worry in his eyes. Ian knows the answer, he knows that, in their neighborhood, it really  _ would  _  be that bad to be gay.

But he’s not asking their neighborhood, he’s asking Mickey, and Mickey has no idea what the fuck to tell him.

“You a fag now, Gallagher?”

Ian paused for a minute, Mickey could tell he was holding his breath and he wanted so desperately to reassure his best friend that it would be fine if he was, that Mickey was, too, even if he couldn’t admit it. That some days all Mickey could think about was saying ‘fuck it’ and grabbing Ian by the shirt to plant a hard kiss to his mouth.

He didn’t say any of those things, just kept his gaze firm and unwavering. Waiting for Ian to make the next move.

He was expecting him to scoff and roll his eyes, push Mickey down onto the bed and slap him lightly for being an idiot. What Mickey didn’t expect for Ian to nod slowly, the fear in his eyes being replaced cautiously with defiance.

Mickey breathed out a shaky exhale. The fuck was he supposed to do now? Tell Ian ‘oh same’, put on a fucking dress and skip down the street holding hands? Ignore it all together and pretend for the rest of their lives that this moment never happened? 

He knows what his dad would’ve done, what any of his brothers would do. They would’ve beat the shit out of Ian. Gotten him so bloodied and bruised that it’d be hard to find a patch of skin that wasn’t colored black or blue.

But Ian was his best friend, had been since they were kids, had been for six years and even if it was wrong, Mickey couldn’t live without the guy. So he looked at Ian dead in the eye and told him “just don’t let anyone around these parts find out.” Ian just nodded, he wasn’t an idiot. Naive, sure, but even he knew how to keep from getting killed.

Mickey laid back down, his head bouncing as it hit the mattress, and hummed quietly to himself before asking Ian if he thinks Fiona was done with the guy because he really wasn’t in the mood to sleep in a cold ass van that smelled like Frank piss. Ian laughed, silently giving thanks to Mickey for not making a big deal out of it, even if it was a really really big deal.

They went inside and found the house quiet, save from the dripping coming from the kitchen sink and both boys sighed in relief before climbing up the stairs and laying down together in Ian’s bed. It was a tight fit, two teen boys in one small bed, but they’ve always been able to make it work and today was no different. They slotted themselves together the way they always did before both boys fell asleep. If, in the middle of the night, Mickey folded into himself so that Ian wrapped around him, well, that was no one’s business but his own.

+++ 

“What color is my hair, Mick?” Mandy asked for what felt like the billionth time. She’s always been fascinated by the fact that her big brother knew so much about what the world looked like. Mickey never got it, her need to know, but he explained it to her anyways.

After being asked the same damn fucking questions for years, though, it was starting to get on his nerves.

“Your hair is black, Mandy, your eyes are blue and you’re pale as fuck, do we really need to go over this shit again? Jesus,” Mickey told her…  _ again _ . “You gotta find somethin’ else to be curious about. Like, fuck, uh… what color is the broken lawn chair outside our house? It’s orange and white thank you so much for bein’ fuckin’ creative for once, Mands!”

Mandy just rolled her eyes at him, she never thought Mickey was intimidating or cool and it was a bit of a blow to the ego, but it was nice, in a way, to have someone treat him like he wasn’t just Terry’s kid or another one of the Milkovich boys- like he wasn’t someone to be afraid of.

“Shut up, dickbag, I was just thinking maybe I should change it up a bit. Dye my hair pink, or something like that. I’m almost fourteen, it’s time I start looking less… boring. It wouldn’t be the whole thing, just a couple of strands here and there but I think it’d look pretty cool!”

Mickey looked up at her from where he was counting his money with a confused look on his face. “And what does this have to do with me?” Mandy just rolled her eyes again like it should be obvious. Damn thirteen year olds, always so fuckin’ dramatic.

“Well I need to know I’m getting the right colors.”

“As if it would make a fuckin’ difference- you can’t even see them!” Mickey said while lighting a cigarette and taking a drag. He knew he wasn’t going to win the argument with Mandy, he never did. She was his baby sister, even if they were only two years apart and she wasn’t much of a baby at all. She was still the only younger sibling he had and the only sibling he cared for.

“Oh just take the girl to get some hair dye, Mikhailo. You don’t seem to have anything better to do. Besides, aren’t fags supposed to  _ like _ all that hair and makeup shit anyways?” Iggy taunted from the kitchen. Mickey stood up from where he was sitting and pushed his brother back so he was pressed into the kitchen counters.

“You wanna fuckin’ die?”

Iggy rolled his eyes, he might be an idiot but he’s not stupid enough to pick a fight with Mickey. He might be the youngest Milkovich boy, but Mickey had no qualms about beating the shit out of anyone, the ‘fuck u-up’ tattoo he had recently gotten was more of a warning than a threat.

“Whatever,” Iggy scoffed before forcing Mickey off him and turning around to grab a few beers from the fridge.

When he walked back out to where he had left Mandy he found his little sister smirking at him. He just sighed and grabbed his coat as he walked out the door, Mandy’s squealing and the sound of her boots on the wooden floor following close behind him.

Once at the store they headed straight for the hair color section. Mickey doesn’t get  _ why _ so many girls want to change their hair, especially since most can’t even see the color difference. If Mickey dyed his hair purple, no matter how bad it looked, he’d at least be able to see it. Mandy? Not so much.

He got the whole ‘rebellious’ appeal of it, though. He got wanting to stand out in a way that made you tough, made you untouchable. Hell, if he was a girl he would probably have flame red hair by this point, even if it would’ve been just for him and Ian to see since practically no one in their high school had met ‘the one’ yet.

And y’know what? If Mandy wanted to try her hand at rebelling against whatever it was she was rebelling against Mickey was gonna be there to support her.

She grabbed two different boxes, one green and one bright orange, examining them as if she could actually tell the fucking difference.

“Didn’t you say you wanted pink?” Mandy nods while she’s still looking at the hair dye boxes. “Yeah, well, that’s not fucking pink. If your thinkin’ you want green or orange hair, then you’ve got the right boxes. But that shit’s not fuckin’ pink, kid.”

“First of all, don’t call me kid, and second of all I  _ know  _ it’s not pink I was just… looking around. Shut up.”

“Didn’t say anything.”

She puts the boxes back and continues to look for the color she wants. Mickey can tell she’s trying to figure it out without his help even if that was the exact reason she brought him with her in the first place. She sighs in defeat before turning around to find Mickey already has a shit eating grin on his face and a box of pink dye in his hands.

“Asshole,” she mutters, but there’s no heat. She picks up a box of yellow dye (after Mickey tells her it’s yellow dye) and some packets of bleach and puts both items in her coat pocket, paying only for the pink dye before walking out of the store. 

Once they’re back at their house, Mandy makes a beeline for the restroom, locking the door and beginning the coloring process. Mickey thought he was going to have to help her, but he’s glad he doesn’t have to, collapsing onto their old couch and pulling out his phone. 

He shoots a quick text to Ian, telling him to come over and hang out for a bit. 

Not even fifteen minutes later and the redhead is standing on their front porch. He doesn’t bother knocking, that’s only necessary when Mickey’s father is around and, considering the shit head disappeared a year ago, that’s never an issue anymore. 

Ian takes off the extra layers he was wearing and places them by the door. Spring is supposed to come soon, but the winter air is grasping onto everything it can, making sure it stays as long as possible. Mickey doesn’t mind, he likes the cold. It gives him an excuse to sit closer to Ian than normal, to press up against him on the couch when they watch TV if only because he’s cold and Ian is a constant furnace. He’s not doing a very good job of fooling anyone, though, if the smug grins Fiona shoots his way everytime him and Ian are cuddle on the couch is any indication. 

Mickey takes his time to look at Ian while the other boy is unaware. He was fourteen now, and already taller than Mickey, with big hands and a goofy, lopsided smile. It seemed like every year Ian Gallagher managed to become more attractive. 

“Hey!” Ian said before sitting down, he had his hands pressed between his knees and he was bouncing his legs frantically, all signs that he had something he wanted to tell Mickey about. 

“Spit it out, Red.” 

“I got a hummer today.” Ian blurted out, the words coming so quickly Mickey almost thought he heard it wrong. 

_ Ian?  _ From  _ who?  _ Mickey knew plenty of girls who were giving blowjobs at fourteen, but he couldn’t really think of any  _ boys  _ that would do it. Unless Ian got it from an older guy, in which case Mickey had to figure out who it was and break both of his kneecaps on principal. Something about statutory rape, or some shit, that had to be illegal but that also served as a perfect excuse for Mickey to beat the shit out of him. 

“Well who did it?” 

“Roger Spikey,” Ian whispered, as if Mickey would tell anyone. Ye of little faith, Gallagher. Mickey might be a dick but he wasn’t about to out anyone either. 

Roger Spikey, though… not who Mickey was expecting. Unfortunately, the guy was only seventeen, so Mickey didn’t have any real reason to fuck the guy up (other than the fact that hearing that someone got to do that with Ian turned his insides red hot and yeah Mickey knew why but no way in hell would he say it). He was also a bit of a moron, as most guys at their school tended to be, as well as a member of the football team. 

“Donkey Dick? You let Donkey Dick Roger fuckin’ Spikey blow you? Christ, Ian, even  _ I  _ wouldn’t stoop that low.” 

“Course you wouldn’t, you’re not gay.” His tone was light and almost mocking, as if he knew it was all for show, Mickey’s interest in pussy. Mickey decided not to comment. 

“Well, shit, was he at least any good?” Mickey had always wondered if it felt better when a guy was doing it then when a girl. He figured it had to be better to at least  _ some  _ degree because he wouldn’t have to think of anything to stay hard. Being with girls, doing  _ anything  _ with girls was always so fuckin’ difficult. Last girl he fucked, Angie Zago, he spent the whole time thinking of Ian suckin’ a popsicle, and even then he couldn’t stay hard. Good thing Angie doesn’t really give a shit, but if it had been any other girl they probably would’ve taken personal offense to it. He figures fucking guys at least makes it easier to keep his dick from going soft. 

“He was okay… I don’t know, never had anyone else do it, so…” he trailed off, and even though he was describing it like it wasn’t a big deal, it had clearly made him happy. Excited even. Mickey fucking hated it, but he hated hating it even more. He hated that he couldn’t feel happy for Ian, that all of his feelings towards Ian’s relationships were clouded by anger ( _ by jealousy, _ he mind supplied helpfully). 

“Well. Good, I guess.” And Mickey hated that, too. That he had to go and make it awkward, that he couldn’t just be happy there were guys out there that weren’t such cowards that they could admit they were fags and live like that. 

The air in the room was thick, like Mickey could’ve grabbed any knife from his brother’s collection and used it to cut the tension. He looked at everything but the freckled redhead beside him. He looked at the black screen of the television, the silver hoops Mandy left sitting on the coffee table, the greenish-brown of the weed sitting in a plastic bag on the windowsill. Any thing that wasn’t Ian. 

It was Mandy that saved them, coming out of the bathroom with strands of her hair wrapped in tinfoil. She looked like she was preparing for the alien invasion with that much foil wrapped around her head, but at the moment Mickey couldn’t even bring himself to make fun of her. He was just happy she seemed to not give a shit about the awkwardness in the room.

“Hello boys!” She said happily as she plopped down on the couch in the gap between Ian and Mickey. She turned the TV on to some girly reality show, grabbed the can of Fanta on the coffee table and settled back into the couch.

Mickey ignored the looks Ian was sending his way, or tried to, for the whole hour that Mandy was sat beside them as she waited for her hair to be finished. Eventually a timer that Mandy had set went off, and she went back to the bathroom to wash it out. It was still weird without Mandy and Mickey fucking hated it.

So he tried talking about it. Tried to make it seem like Ian just told him he’d fucked a chick for the first time, Mickey wouldn’t have cared then, he doesn’t think. If Ian was straight and there was zero chance of him ever caring for Mickey the way Mickey did for him he wouldn’t care (he doesn’t think there was any chance now, but with Ian being gay it at least opens up the possibility).

“Did you suck him off too?” It was abrupt and out of nowhere and in the exact fashion of most things Mickey did: tactless. 

But it made Ian laugh, and in that moment that was all Mickey was hoping to do. 

“I- no. I didn’t. Seemed too weird. I was gonna, but- I don’t know. I figured if I’m ever gonna put a fuckin’ dick in my  _ mouth  _ I should at least like the person a little. And, besides,” Ian leaned in closer and looked around, making sure no one could hear what he was about to say, “he finished before I could even offer.” Mickey pulled back and stared at Ian with a shocked expression on his face. 

“No fuckin’ way!” He laughed and Ian nodded with a smile. “Donkey Dick came in his pants like a fag? No offense.” 

“No worries,” Ian said through laughter, eyes finally shining brightly again. And this is one of the things Mickey loved about them, his relationship with Ian. No matter how weird shit got, they always managed to go back to being Ian and Mickey before the sun ever set. 

Mickey got up and walked over to the windowsill, grabbing the baggy of weed and holding it up in front of Ian. 

“Wanna smoke?” Ian’s grin was answer enough. 

Mickey rolled them a few joints, lighting one and passing it to Ian, the younger boy took a drag and then started coughing. Mickey rolled his eyes heavenward and tried instructing him how to do it without breaking out in a coughing fit next time. 

Ian’s next drag was much smoother, he held the smoke in his lungs for a second, letting it settle and burn as he handed the joint back to Mickey, who did the same thing. They each exhaled, watching as the smoke filled the room and then dissipated through the open window. 

The were both pleasantly high, not crazy stoned but close enough to it that everything was warm and slow, like they were operating on a different timeline. 

It was then that Ian asked. 

“Do you think we’ll ever find our soulmates? We already see color, how are we supposed to know it’s him or her when we meet them?” 

Mickey paused for a second, thinking about the question. It wasn’t something he thought about often, if he was being honest. He just figured he was never meant to have a soulmate, that it wasn’t in the cards for him. Shit like that doesn’t happen for people like him. He never thought about it for Ian, though. Ian who loved romantic comedies and who wanted a boyfriend and who had talked about his soulmate since they were kids. Ian, who  _ deserved  _ someone to love him like that. 

Mickey had always figured his colors were just because he was never going to meet his soulmate, that God decided being alone forever was shitty enough and so He gave him color. Ian, though- Mickey couldn’t imagine anything being cruel enough to not give Ian the kind of love he’d always wanted. 

“I think you just… you just fuckin’ know when you meet them. Like some cosmic sort of  _ your worlds align  _ shit.” 

“Of course you know when you meet them, that’s the whole point of the colors. How can  _ we  _ know? How is a soulmate supposed to feel?” 

“Jesus you talk a lot when you’re high. I don’t know, man. Fuckin’ google it or some shit. Ask Mandy, she’s obsessed with that shit. Maybe even Fiona. She’s older, she’s gotta know somethin’ right? I never really thought about it, just figured a ‘soulmate’ was never in it for me, and that’s fine. There are worse hands to be dealt.” Mickey was smiling, but he knew Ian could tell it was a lie. Thankfully, he was either too stoned to notice or too stoned to care. He just shrugged and mumbled something about seeing if he could find a book in the library about it. 

When he turned to look at Mickey again, it was with a devilish grin. “Wanna shotgun?” he asked, eyebrows raised high like he was daring Mickey to back down and be a pussy about it. 

Instead, Mickey just inhaled smoke from the joint and turned to face Ian, cupping his face with one hand before leaning in and blowing the smoke out into Ian’s open mouth. It was the first time they’d ever done it, but Mickey had done it before with a few girls at random parties his brothers would throw, so it’s not as though he didn’t know how to go about it. 

He just forgot how close to kissing it was. 

Forgot how he could just angle his head and press his lips to Ians, how he could use the hand that’s wrapped around Ian’s neck to crash their lips together. He’s never been so close to kissing another boy and it’s fucking terrifying. 

When they pull away, both boys’ cheeks are slightly pink, although it’s hard to tell with the lack of light in the room from the light not being on and the sun having already set. They share another look and Ian giggles, the weed getting to him and making him feel light, unguarded. So often they have to walk with their shields held high that they forget how sore their arms have become. It feels good to be able to let go sometimes. 

Mickey just wishes he could do it more often. 

+++

It was the sounds of heavy footsteps that woke him up. He was wrapped around Ian from where they had fallen asleep the night before, Ian was too drunk for Mickey to have let him go home. He could tell by the slow rising and falling of Ian’s chest that the other boy was still asleep, the house was so quiet that Mickey thought he had imagined the sound. 

And then it came again. Unmistakeable, loud,  _ angry _ . 

They were Terry’s footsteps, and there was no chance he wasn’t high off his ass if the uneven pattern of his steps was anything to go by. If not his walking, the fact that Mickey could hear him knocking down shit as he moved was enough indication to know his dad was shit faced. 

Mickey never got out of bed so quickly in his _ life. _ He opened his bedroom door slowly, not letting his father know he was there, and saw him confused, looking around for something before he grabbed his dick through his pants and made his way towards Mandy’s door. Mickey waited with bated breath, hoping his dad would turn around before he did something more fucked up than usual. Mickey waited. He waited and waited for what felt like ages, watching his father stand in front of his sister’s bedroom door. 

When he turned the handle, Mickey ran. 

He grabbed the first heavy thing he could find, a slab of cement that he’s not sure the origins of, and hits his father square in the back, causing him to fall over. Mandy had squeezed herself against the corner of the wall, knees tucked into her chest trying to hide from whatever the fuck their dad had planned on this time. 

Terry turned around, furious with Mickey for disrupting his plans and for causing him pain. He yelled before running towards his son, knocking him down and laying punch after punch wherever he could land it. Mickey might be half of his father’s size, but that doesn’t mean he couldn’t take him. He kicked Terry in the balls, causing the fuckhead to fall off of Mickey in pain, but Mickey knew he’d be back to hitting him sooner rather than later.

He got up and looked around, a weapon should be so much easier to find in a household of convicts, but the closest thing he could find that would do damage was a piece of broken glass. He took it, and when Terry came at him again, his palms open and aiming for Mickey’s neck, Mickey stabbed him right in the middle of his hand, making sure to pull the glass back so Terry would bleed out.

Mickey’s plan was ineffective as his father barely so much as  _ glanced  _ at the wound on his palm, instead preferring to continue trying to strangle the life out of his son. Mickey had to find something else, something bigger something that would do more damage. If they were in the living room, he’d have an arsenal of guns at his disposal (not that Terry wouldn’t’ve shot him first, but if he had any one of the damn guns in this house he’d probably stand a better chance at taking down his fuckass dad).

He had no reason to worry, though, because right as he thought there was no point in fighting back, his father was going to kill him, Ian appeared in the doorway of his bedroom, half naked and pointing a gun at Terry’s chest.

“Here’s what the fuck you’re gonna do Terry. You’re going to let go of Mickey, you’re going to get the  _ fuck  _ out of this house, and you are never, and I mean  _ ever,  _ going to step foot in it again.” Mickey saw how Ian’s face got darker with each word he spoke, he was challenging Terry to step out of line, to punch Mickey, to run back into her room and hurt Mandy. Mickey had never seen his green eyes look so close to black in his life, he knew his best friend was a good person, but right then there was no doubt in his mind that he would’ve killed Terry without a dark spot to his conscience.

Terry scoffed, not knowing what was good for him. “Yeah right, fag. As if you’re going to do something with that gun other than shove it up your own ass.”

Ian shot him in the left shoulder, just a couple of inches above his heart.

“Get the fuck out Terry, or I swear to God I won’t miss next time.”

Terry turned around to leave, but before he walked out the door he grabbed one of the guns that was lying on the floor, turned around and shot three times. Once through the ceiling, once just past Ians chest, and another one that landed in his leg. Ian cried out, not expecting the shot or for Terry to have been able to withstand the pain in his shoulder long enough to shoot.

Never underestimate a Milkovich, Mickey thought bitterly.

Terry was walking towards them when the cops knocked down their door, finding Ian bleeding out, Mickey trying desperately to apply pressure to the gunshot in his leg and Terry looming over them with a gun in his hands.

The police took him away, some staying behind to help with Ian and ask questions about the incident. Mickey told them that he attacked his father for trying to sexually assault his fourteen year old sister and that Terry had tried to kill Ian for trying to protect Mickey; the officers told him Terry was to get a minimum of twenty years, likely more than that since this wasn’t his first felony. Mickey and Ian breathed out a sigh of relief and helped escort the men out the door, the policemen reassuring them that the paramedics were on their way to take Ian to a hospital.

Mickey heard Ian thank them and watched as he struggled to turn around to try and make his way back to Mickey’s room so he could put on a change of clothes only to find Mickey standing behind him holding a t-shirt and a pair of black sweatpants.

“I got you the black ones so the blood won’t be too visible,” Mickey explained, as though it needed some sort of explanation. It’s not like Mickey wore anything else other than grey or black, anyways.

Ian smiled at him in thanks, moving to put on the top first before asking Mickey to hold out the pants so he could do his best to step into them. The paramedics got there soon after, and helped Ian onto a stretcher so he could be carried out to the ambulance. Mickey asked if he could go along, but the EMT’s told him it’d be better if they didn’t. He knew they’d say no, he was too stressed and too jumpy to go along without making the whole thing worse for Ian. So he nodded and dialed Fiona’s number, telling her Ian was being taken to the hospital for a gunshot wound.

It was a testament to the amount of shit the Gallaghers found themselves knee-deep in that Fiona’s only response was to sigh and thank Mickey for letting her know.

He walked into Mandy’s room and pulled her close, wrapping his arms tightly around his little sister’s thin body. She was shaking where she was tucked underneath him, rocking back and forth so violently Mickey was trembling too.

For the first time in his life the world was grey.

+++

It had been a few weeks since Ian had been shot, and they had all been waiting for the court to rule how long Terry Milkovich would be in prison for. Everyone was hoping the bastard would get at least twenty years, but knowing how fucked the system was and how little they cared for two poor kids on the South Side, there was the very real chance he’d only get a couple years and then parole. 

Neither Mickey nor Mandy wanted to go to the court hearings, but they knew they had to find out his fate. Mickey went, no matter how much he hated his father, he knew Mandy hated him more. You don’t put a child through the shit he did and have them not abhor your existence. Mickey didn’t trust Mandy not to attack him as soon as she saw him, so he told her to stay home while he attended.

The hearing was short, much shorter than any of Terry’s previous ones. There was no way for him to not be found guilty, the arresting officers found him hovering over Ian’s bleeding body, for fucks sake, but what crimes he was being tried for, Mickey didn’t know.

The judge listed out Terry’s offenses  _ ‘attempted first-degree murder, attempted sexual assault of a minor, incestous sexual assault of a minor’  _ Mickey stopped listening after that and took some time to look around the courtroom. 

The room was rather boring; small, shitty, exactly what you’d expect from the South Side of Chicago. Everything, aside from the walls, was made of wood, brown except for mysterious black stains. The floor was beige, the walls were beige… it was like a brown-toned version of never having met your soulmate. Mickey wanted to run away and never come back. 

But he had to wait the hearing out, for Mandy, who shouldn’t have to live in fear of her own father, and for Ian who was still limping whenever he walked around. 

Mickey doesn’t know how long it took. He was zoned out a good majority of the time, the whole process moving around him like it existed in a different time-space continuum. All he remember hearing was that his father had been sentenced to life in prison, with no option for parole. Something about this being his fourth felony arrest. 

_ Life in prison.  _

Mickey fought the urge to fist pump the air and scream in happiness. That motherfucker would never touch the people he loved ever again. Mickey didn’t think anything had ever sounded so nice. 

He left the courtroom and headed straight to the place Ian had found a job at- the Kash and Grab. He sent a text to Mandy, telling her she didn’t have to worry about that prick anymore. She sent him back a smiley face and two exclamation points, a response Mickey was rather content with. 

He walked into the convenience store and immediately yelled out for Ian. 

“ _ Ian Gallagher!”  _ It didn’t even take two seconds before the red head popped his head out from the back storage room with a confused look on his face. “Terry Milkovich is back in the can, bitch! How’s life in prison, Dad?! I hope you drop the soap, you motherfuckin’ bastard!” He saw as recognition settled over Ian’s features as he realized what Mickey had just said. 

“He got life?” 

“You fuckin’  _ know _ he did!” Ian limped over as quickly as he could and wrapped Mickey in a tight hug. Mickey stood there in his best friend’s arm dumbfounded for a minute before he wrapped his arms just as tightly around Ian’s back. They pulled apart when they heard the bell above the front jingling, signaling that someone had come in. Both boys turned to face whoever had intruded their private moment, even if said private moment was taking place in the middle of a public convenience store. 

Turns out it was the store owner, Kash, who was standing at the door and staring at them like he hated the scene unfolding in front of him. Mickey thought it was weird, but paid no mind to it, grabbing a snickers bar off the counter and walking out, not bothering to acknowledge towel head’s existence in any shape. 

Shit with Kash just got weirder as the days went on. Ian would be mopping the floor while Mickey stood by store flipping through the newspapers and Kash would just… fuckin’ stare at Ian with his beady little eyes. Mickey didn’t get it, he figured the guy was maybe homophobic and had figured out that Ian was gay, but that didn’t seem to be the case. For one, he hadn’t made any comments towards Ian about him being a fag or anything of that nature, and Mickey had met plenty of people who fuckin’ hate queers and not once had he met one who was silent about it. 

So Mickey kept watching them, he was always around, distracting Ian from his job, stealing candy, and, ultimately, waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

It was a Friday when it finally did. Ian was bent over looking through the contents of a cardboard box, looking for the barbecue pringles he told Mickey they’d finally restocked when Mickey caught Kash staring at Ian. (Again). It wasn’t odd to find him looking at the fifteen year old- what was odd was that the look he was giving Ian was one Mickey recognized, a look of want.

Mickey’s eyebrows shot up so far they nearly disappeared into his hairline. Kash was looking directly at Ian’s ass, not even attempting to be subtle and Mickey kept looking at him in disgust. He silently hoped Kash would turn around and catch Mickey glaring at him, but he had no such look. Instead of Kash meeting Mickey’s gaze and getting chased by the Milkovich throughout his own store, the impossible happened. The world flipped on it’s own fuckin’ axis and stopped spinning completely. When Ian turned around and caught Kash staring he  _ blushed  _ and  _ smiled bashfully _ . He looked two seconds away from honest to God batting his fuckin’ eyelashes. 

Mickey wanted the ground to swallow him whole.

Not only did Kash  _ want  _ to fuck Ian, Mickey was pretty fucking sure Kash  _ was  _ fucking Ian. Jesus  _ fucking  _ Christ, could Mickey not catch a goddamn break from pedophiles for once in his fuckin’ life? 

Apparently not, because Ian didn’t even register the incredulous look on Mickey’s face, choosing instead to keep flirting with his married, thirty-something year old boss. Mickey wanted to vomit. 

Instead he left. He knew that Lip and Fiona would gladly strap the man to a chair and let Carl have his fun with him, but if there was even the chance that Kash was innocent, Mickey didn’t want to go to juvie for nothing. 

So he waited, not inside the store, but just out of sight from it, behind some old dumpsters on the other side of the street. He was going to wait until something weird happened, something the towel head wouldn’t be able to deny. 

It didn’t take too long for it to happen, just a couple hours, when Kash walked to the front door, looked from side to side, and flipped the sign to say  _ CLOSED.  _ Mickey groaned, even though this is exactly the information he was trying to discover, it still hurt imagining his best friend getting plowed by a guy more than twice his age. Mickey crossed the street leading to the Kash and Grab quickly, walking around to the alley and making his way into the store through the back. It only took a second for him to start hearing grunts and moans coming from the back storage. 

Before he interrupted their fuck fest he pulled up Lip’s number and sent him a text. 

_ ians boss is a pedo. come quick. front doors locked but back is open _

The Gallagher house wasn’t too far from the Kash and Grab, and Mickey didn’t want to discover the scene without Lip with him. He could wait the few minutes it would take for the older Gallagher to get there, and it didn’t sound like Ian and Osama Bin Laden were in any rush.

When Lip got there, he made the mistake of making too much noise as he walked into the store, and Mickey could tell the exact moment Kash and Ian knew they weren’t alone. The sounds of skin slapping on skin stopped, for one, but so did the squeaking of the selves on the floor from where, Mickey assumed, they had been holding on and shaking it .

Mickey motioned for Lip to follow him and barged right into the storage closet to find a startled Ian balls deep in an even more frightened Kash. He didn’t look at Ian twice before pulling his arm back and swinging at Kash with enough force to knock Ian’s dick out of him. 

“You too much of a fag you can’t even fuck guys your own age? Fuckin’ pussy.” Mickey spat at him, continuing to kick the guy as Ian and Lip just watched, both with smirks on their faces, until Kash said something that made all of them still. 

“I can’t help that he’s my soulmate!” 

Yeah, as fuckin’ if. 

“The fuck are you talkin’ about?” Mickey had pulled him up and was pressing him against the wall, holding him up by his collar, fist ready to land if Kash decides to pull another dumbass move. 

“The first day Ian started working here I- the entire store was suddenly filled with color.” 

Mickey pushed the guy into the wall harder, for no reason other than he was a fucking prick. 

“You ever think it was any one of your shitass customers? Ian’s not your fuckin’ soul mate. He’s your employee and he’s fifteen,” Lip spoke up from behind Mickey. He had forgotten he was even there, but he was glad Lip was explaining the situation and not Mickey,. He didn’t want to get too heated about it and then have to go through the awkwardness of explaining to Ian why he cared so much. 

Kash gulped at Lip’s words, realizing his only semi-valid excuse for sleeping with Ian had just escaped. He had nowhere to run. 

“Here’s what your gonna do, now, bitch,” Mickey spoke, a calmness to his voice that only ever existed when he had more anger pulsing through his body than he knew what to do with. Kash was right to look terrified. “You’re gonna tell your wife you’re a boy-lovin’ fag, and then you’re gonna leave this town. I don’t give a shit where you go so long as I never have to see your face again, cool? Glad we had this talk, man!” He let Kash go and turned around to leave, but not before grabbing Ian’s wrists and dragging him away from the store. 

Mickey, Ian, and Lip all walked home in relative silence. It wasn’t until they were in the living room of the Gallagher house that the two seventeen year olds flipped their shit at Ian. 

Mickey let Lip go first, if it was Mandy in that situation he would want to be the first one to tell her how fuckin’ stupid she was being. How reckless, how idiotic. 

“Are you fucking  _ insane _ , Ian? He’s twice your age! Ian, he’s so old it’d be weird for  _ Fiona  _ to have fucked him. You’re fifteen, what were you fucking thinking? Don’t fucking answer that because you very obviously weren’t. Jesus  _ Christ,  _ man, why can’t you fuck someone your own age? Who’s not married with kids, huh?” 

It was then that Fiona came downstairs. Having known Fi for years, Mickey figures she was probably eavesdropping from her bedroom, trying to figure it all out before someone laid it out in front of her. She walks over to them with a predatory smile on her face. She had heard enough to know the truth, and if they don’t tell her exactly what it is she’s going to make their home lives miserable. 

Neither of the Gallaghers looked like they would talk, so Mickey did. He told Fiona he had caught Ian and Kash fucking. There was no reason to lie about it. Fiona either already knew or she would’ve found out sooner rather than later. Her face remained calm and kind but Mickey saw her brown eyes cloud over with a steely, murderous gaze. If Kash was afraid of Lip and Mickey, he had no idea what he had in store for him with Fiona. 

“Where is he now?” Fiona asked standing up off the couch, the previously calm demeanor shifting to one of pure rage as she looked around for the baseball bat they reserved for killing. Lip put a hand on her shoulder and pushed her down so she was sitting back on the couch. 

“Mickey already took care of it, no need to go on a happy go lucky killing spree, okay?” 

“Not the question I asked. Where the fuck is he.” 

Ian realized Fiona was still looking for the bat and put a hand on her knee in an effort to ground her. It was a difficult thing, calming down Fiona, especially when her anger was directed at someone who had hurt her kids.

As much as Mickey would’ve loved to watch Fiona kill the motherfucker, he knew he couldn’t let  her. She was well above the age to go to juvie, and if she was convicted of a felony of that grandeur there would be no way she’d be able to take care of her siblings, and they needed her, even if Ian and Lip didn’t want to admit that.

So he told her what he did. The punching, the kicking, the threats, and she seemed to calm down enough knowing that Mickey had done what she would’ve had she been there. She turned to Ian and told her he wasn’t allowed back there until Linda knew of the situation, and that if Kash took more than a day to tell his wife she would do it herself.

Mickey watched as Fiona told him to go upstairs and wash up before dinner. Mickey had spent enough afternoons at their house to know the drill, so he got up and made his way to the kitchen to help Fiona set the table.

“How’d you even catch them doing it?” she asked while pouring the spaghetti into the colander. Mickey didn’t have to look at her to know she was smirking. He was pretty convinced Fiona thought him and Ian were in love, or some other bullshit of that nature. She’d never said it explicitly, but he knew.

“Why the fuck do you care, shouldn’t you just be glad I  _ did  _ catch them?”

Fiona smiled. “Course ‘m glad, just seems weird that a thirty year old married man would be so careless as to leave the door open while he fucked a kid.”

Mickey could tell his face was turning red, so he used the excuse of setting the table to keep his back to Fiona and his head down. The fact that he never responded was answer enough to her.

+++

Mickey was seventeen the first time he hopped on a train and crossed the city to go to a gay club as far away from his neighborhood as possible. The bouncer didn’t really care to check if his ID was fake, just let Mickey in without a second thought. The club was just like any other Mickey had been to. The lights were dimmed save for the blue and purple spotlights casting shadows across everyone’s faces. It was too packed to really move but people were grinding on each other anyways, and the DJ seemed to be playing the same songs that every club DJ in America plays. 

The only difference were the guys standing on elevated stages in the middle of the room, dancing in tight, golden spandex shorts.

Mickey had never seen anything like it, and it made him a little giddy. No one here cared who he was or what he was, they were all just looking for a warm mouth to take home at the end of the night and then never see again. The good thing about clubs like these is that the lights make it so everyone looks washed out in one color, so the club looks pretty much the same whether you can see colors or not.

It also makes it hard for anyone to really pick out any details on other peoples faces. The lights are too harsh and too dark for anyone to really look like themselves. It makes it easy to be anonymous. Here, Mickey doesn’t have to be Mickey Milkovich, South Side closet case. He could be Luke Miller, out and proud from the North Side. He could be Jake Campbell, visiting from Indiana. He could be any-fucking-body else, he realized, and he liked that.

Liked not having to worry about getting fag bashed on his way home, because no one knew he was here. Liked that he could go up to the guys on the dance floor and start grinding on them like they were already doing to each other.

Mickey went to the bar and ordered three shots, the bartender clearly not giving a fuck about the fact that Mickey did not look twenty-one years old. Mickey swallowed down each of the shots quickly, wanting to find a guy he could take out to the alley for a quickie before going home.

It didn’t take long, once he had made his way to the middle of the crowd on the dance floor, he had plenty of guys trying to grind up on him.

Mickey had never felt so sick in his life.

But he pushed through, he needed to know what it would be like to have his dick in a  _ guy’s  _ mouth for once, and it’s not like he was some sort of blushing virgin. So he stayed pressed against men who all looked at least five years older than him, and let himself get grinded on. His mind was wandering, moving from thought to thought so quickly Mickey could barely register what was going on in his own brain. Everything felt so clouded, so muffled. He wanted to scream. His body felt like it was on fire, and he didn’t know whether he liked it or not.

Everything just felt wrong. The guy standing behind him wasn’t tall enough and his hair was too brown and his skin was too smooth and unmarked and his hands weren’t big enough and it was Mickey’s own fault that it all felt wrong and he hated himself for it. He wanted a tall, freckled ginger pressing into him, but he was too chicken shit to ever say it.

So instead he spun around and whispered something in the guy’s ear that had him nodding and leading Mickey outside by the hand. They walked around to the back of the building where the guy immediately shoved Mickey against the brick wall of the club.

He fell to his knees and undid Mickey’s pants, bringing his cock out and giving it a few licks before swallowing the head and making his way down the shaft. Mickey vaguely remembers knotting his fingers into the guys hair, too preoccupied with making sure he didn’t accidentally call the guy Ian as he worked on making Mickey come.

When he did, he barely even warned the guy, and as soon as he was finished he tucked his dick back into his pants and ran. Ignoring the guy yelling at him for being an asshole and not returning the favor.

Mickey didn’t bother with him, just kept on running. He didn’t know where to, didn’t know this part of the city, didn’t know where he should end up if he wanted to wake up alive the next day. He ran until he saw the lake, slowing down as he neared it, finding a patch of sand that was rather secluded and he sat down, staring at the water.

He fished out a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket and stayed there all night, smoking until all he had left was the burnt out butts of cigarettes littering the floor around him. He watched as the sky went from black to orange, pink, and yellow. Sunsets and sunrises were one of the best things about seeing colors. It was such a violent display, the colors so loud and so saturated they either stole the day or wiped out the night, and something about that had always resonated with Mickey.

He’d never say any of that faggy shit out loud, but at five in the morning sitting on the shore of Lake Michigan, he figured he was safe enough to at least think it. There were a lot of things that only felt safe early in the morning.

Things like running a hand through your best friends hair, things like wishing you weren’t a fag so your dad wouldn’t hate you, no matter how much you hate him. Things like your mother, singing softly as she scrambled eggs for breakfast.

Mostly, though, Mickey thought about Ian at times like these. He thought about soulmates. About how it wasn’t fair that he would never know his. Just because Mickey thought it was stupid doesn’t mean he didn’t long for it too. He knew his person could still be out there, lots of people grew up knowing their soulmate ever since they were kids, lots of people were lifelong friends with ‘the one’. But even in those cases, they still knew. Mickey had no fucking idea, and he never would.

The most unfair part of it all was that Ian would never know either. Ian always said it didn’t bother him, that it just meant he got to choose who he loved instead of having it forced upon him. The universe didn’t work like that, though. If Ian were to ever fall in love with someone that wasn’t his soulmate, that person would eventually find  _ theirs _ and leave Ian all alone.

Of course, Mickey has entertained the fact that maybe Ian could be  _ his _ . They’ve both been able to see color since they were kids, but he knows it’s unlikely. He was nine when he met Ian, and by that point he had already been seeing colors his whole life. He knows it couldn’t’ve been Ian, regardless of the fact that they met well after their worlds had stopped being grey because Ian told him that when he was a baby his parents fucked off out of Chicago. They were living in a van and driving around as far as that van would take them, so it was unlikely they had ever met.

Mickey could hope, though. He could close his eyes and pray that there was a missing piece he just didn’t know about yet, that shit would work out for once.

It never did, though. Things working out just weren’t in the cards if you were a Milkovich. His mother never met her soulmate. She was his father’s, but he wasn’t her’s, and he was too violent of a man for anyone to turn him down. So she lived a loveless life with him, living every day in fear, until she got into what his dad described as a ‘freak accident’ and died. Mickey knows his father killed her, knows it in his gut, but he’d never dare accuse his dad of anything like that, lest he get killed too.

His mother never found her soulmate, and he would never be able to. If this was fate’s sense of humor, Mickey didn’t fucking like it.

He sat staring at the horizon until long after the sun had risen. It was only when the wind started picking up and he was shivering where he sat in a short sleeve shirt that he got up and moved, making his way to a train platform in order to get back home.

He took twice as long to get to the train station than he normally would; there was a tiredness set deep in his bones, and a stickiness to his limbs that made it impossible to move. He was molasses, his movements slow and sticky. If anyone were to touch him, their hand would come back dirty, messy. That’s what Mickey was.

He couldn’t help the guilt that set in from his encounter the night before. His mind kept flipping back and forth, a part of him chastising him for not having stayed and returned the favor, the other part hated him for doing anything with the guy in the first place.

There had always been a thing surrounding sleeping with someone who wasn’t your person. Your body knew you shouldn’t be fucking around with anyone other than your soulmate. Something about how making love should be reserved for the one you love. Mickey thought it was bullshit. He’d never be able to find that person, so why should he have to live the rest of his life succumbing to his own left hand anytime he found he needed pleasure?

Thing was, no matter how much Mickey disagreed with it, there was no stopping his body from feeling like it was trying to light itself on fire from the inside out. Everything about him was in flames, lit up by the remorse settling deep in the pit of his stomach. Mickey kept trying to claw at his abdomen, see if he could reach in and remove the shame by force, but he had no such luck.

He wondered if the other guy was standing on a train platform thinking the same thing, or if he somehow got used to feeling like the world had turned against you. He wonders if that’s something you could ever get used to.

He gets on the train without thinking, stares out the window until the city starts to look like something he recognizes. He gets off when the city outside has gone from big shiny skyscrapers and turned into short old buildings with blood stained alleyways.

Home, basically.

Mickey doesn’t bother announcing his arrival back home when he enters. He figures no one even noticed he was gone, but when he enters his room he sees Ian sitting on his bed, looking angrier than someone should at nine in the morning.

Once he sees Mickey he stands up and shoves Mickey backwards so his back hits the wall. Ian looks like he’s trying his best to contain his fury, if the fact that he keeps clenching and unclenching his fists right beside Mickey’s head is any indicator.

Ian brings his hands down and looks directly into Mickey’s eyes. “Where. the  _ fuck _ . have you  _ been?  _ Wanna explain why you left yesterday with zero explanation? Why you still weren’t back by morning? Why you weren’t picking up your fucking phone?” Ian grabs his own phone from his back pocket and shoves it in Mickey’s face. “You know what the purpose of this is? So people can communicate with others whenever they aren’t face to face.” Ian stepped back, and Mickey could finally make out the hurt that was obvious on his face. “Fuck, Mickey. We were supposed to hang out yesterday.”

And now Mickey feels like a fucking  _ dick _ . Him and Ian  _ had  _ made plans, they were going to spend the afternoon getting high in the dugouts by the baseball field, a place they always went to when they needed to get away from their family. Ian had been trying to find a time both him and Mickey would be able to meet up there all week, something had clearly been on his mind, and Mickey blew him off for a mediocre blow job behind a gay club.

“Get the fuck off me, man, something came up.”

The look that Ian gave him was murderous, he didn’t care what had come up. They had always agreed to put each other first, or at least call when that wasn’t going to be possible. In a world that was constantly taking and taking and taking from them, they grew up with the only untouchable thing being each other. Mickey knew no matter how much the world took from him, that they’d never be able to take Ian. And he knew it was supposed to be the other way around, too. 

“Too fucking bad, Mickey. Shit always comes up, that’s how life is, yeah? But you fucking  _ know  _ the rules! If something comes up, you fucking call. You tell me what fucking happened and we move on. So tell me, Mickey,  what fucking happened?” He knew he wouldn’t be able to get Ian to leave without telling him, or at least telling him something that sounded realistic enough that he would leave him alone. 

He couldn’t come up with anything. He could always tell Ian the truth, that he needed a day away from being who he was. He could always  _ tell _ Ian that he had gone to a gay club, it’s not like he would mind. 

Instead, he just shrugged his shoulders. “It was nothin’, man, lighten up, fuck.” He put his hand on Ian’s chest and tried to push him away from where he was still crowding around him in the corner. 

Ian just pushed him back harder, his entire forearm pressing up against Mickey, pinning him to the wall with no room to move. Mickey briefly had time to wonder when Gallagher had gotten so… big. 

“Bullshit,” he spat, and Mickey had half a mind to argue. Instead, he just looked at Ian. Watched as Ian’s eyes flicked from his eyes down to his lips and back up again. Searching for something there and Mickey was praying he would find it. Prayed his eyes were telling Ian everything he’d always been too pussy to say out loud. 

_ Kiss me.  _

_ Do something.  _

_ I’m yours for the fucking taking. _

When Ian’s eyes flicked down to his mouth again, Mickey was sure he was going to press his lips against his. He could hear his blood fucking pounding in his ears, it seemed so loud he was almost sure Ian could hear it too.

Mickey was about to say ‘fuck it’ and plant the kiss on Ian himself, when the ginger turned away and started rifling through Mickey’s bedside table, pulling out a bag with pre-rolled joints that Mickey kept there for convenience.

“Better late than never, right?” Ian’s lips were quirked up in a light-hearted smirk, but his eyes were desperate for something Mickey couldn’t quite place, he looked almost lonely. 

Mickey nodded slowly, not wanting to upset the Gallagher any more than he clearly already had. Ian nodded once and turned to walk out of the house, Mickey followed, quickly switching out into a different shirt and doing his best to readjust the semi in his pants so Ian wouldn’t see. 

It seemed Ian was still angry with him, no matter how chill he was trying to be about Mickey blowing him off with no explanation. He still hadn’t said a word, and the younger boy was usually much more talkative, especially when he was high.

In the end, it was Mickey who talked first. 

“Why did you wanna come here so fuckin’ badly?” Mickey said, blowing a cloud of smoke as he spoke.

Ian sighed, looked up at the sky as if asking God for help before beginning to speak, not making eye contact with Mickey. “Fiona met her soulmate. The guy’s a prick who steals cars for the fucking fun of it and there’s no way that isn’t gonna get Fiona in trouble. I fucking hate him,  _ and  _ I’ve slept with his father.” He finally turned to face his best friend, a  _ ‘want more’  _ sort of dick-ish expression on his face. 

Mickey was stunned, to say the very least. On one hand, he was happy for Fiona, the girl was like an older sister to him and he’d always wanted the best for her. On the other hand, he didn’t know how good of a guy this soulmate of hers was, and lord knows Fiona Gallagher is the last person in the world who deserves a shitty soulmate to add to her list of shitty’s.

“That’s tough shit, man. Is he at least a good guy?” 

Ian laughed like that was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard in his life.  _ So no,  _ Mickey’s brain supplied. 

“Yeah, here’s the goddamn catch! Debbie was going through his phone and found a text that read  _ ‘Jimmy, sweetie, I miss you! Come visit’  _ which isn’t too incriminating, except that he introduced himself to us as Steve. So now we’re all wondering ‘who the fuck is Jimmy?’ and who the fuck is calling him sweetie and asking him to come home? The guy’s a fucking liar, is what he is. If Fiona hadn’t spent half an hour playing with my hair, just looking at the color, I would’ve believed he was lying about being soulmates, too.”

Mickey didn’t know what to tell him, it’s not like he had any personal experience dealing with soulmate shit with Mandy, so he offered Ian the only thing he knew would be a sure-fire way to let out his frustrations. 

“You need to shoot something.”

Ian looked up at him like he had never heard anything dumber in his life, his eyebrows raised in annoyance at Mickey’s suggestion even though, really, it was a very sensible suggestion.

“C’mon, tough guy, there’s an abandoned building with plenty of windows for you to break just a few blocks away. If not because Fiona’s boyfriend ‘s a prick then for ROTC practice, or some shit, I don’t know. It’ll make you feel better, promise.” 

Mickey had his hand out, ready to pull Ian up from where he had slumped down on the ground. He waited a second before Ian wrapped his fingers around his wrist and hauled himself up, sharing a smile with Mickey before following the other boy to the abandoned building. 

It was exactly what anyone would expect a deserted building in their neighborhood to look like. It smelt vaguely of piss, and there were glass shards on just about every inch of the floor. Clearly, they weren’t the first ones to come here in need of letting off steam.

Mickey quickly jumped through an open, glassless window and proceeded to climb up the stairs to the buildings second floor. He loved coming here, had done it almost every time Terry had been released from prison, shooting the windows or just throwing empty beer bottles onto the wall and watching as they shattered. 

It was clear as soon as Ian was stood next to him that this was clearly what he needed. Mickey pulled the gun out from where it was tucked into his pants and handed it to Ian who took it gladly. 

He shot the first three windows in silence, before he started to yell. 

“Piece of fucking  _ shit”  _ shot the bottom corner, “trying to fucking” shot the other corner, “take Fiona  _ away  _ from us so they could live happily  _ fucking _ ever after” the top right corner, “doesn’t he know he can’t take her away from us? Doesn’t he know we fucking  _ need  _ her? That just because they’re soulmates, doesn’t mean he gets to do whatever he fucking  _ pleases _ ?” Three shots in quick succession, not hitting anything since he had already shattered the entire plane of glass. 

Mickey was scared for the guy, Steve-Jimmy whatever the fuck, because Ian was a good shot, and he had always been bad at controlling his impulses when he was angry. He had fallen silent, standing facing the window with his arm still up, holding the gun, finger still on the trigger. 

Mickey walked over to him slowly and brought his arm down. Ian was shaking with fury, trembling under Mickey’s fingers. Mickey turned him around and pulled him into a hug, hearing the gun fall where it dropped from Ian’s grasp. 

It wasn’t something they did often, hug. It’s not that they weren’t ever affectionate with one another, or that they never touched (they both had years worth of scars from wrestling one another to prove it) but the only times they ever did this, wrapped themselves around one another, was when it was late at night and they’d be able to deny it in the morning. Mickey couldn’t risk anyone thinking he was gay, and Ian knew that. Respected that his ‘straight best friend’ didn’t want to be seen as a fag. 

“It’ll be okay, Army. Fiona’s a big girl, she can handle her own.” 

Mickey hoped to God that he was right, he doesn’t know if he’d be able to handle having to comfort Ian everytime something went to shit. 

+++

Mickey fucking hated the soulmate shit. He hated watching as people flung themselves dramatically at each other and nearly proceeded to fuck right then and there. He hated that there were special TV channels reserved for the soulmate-less that were entirely black and white so they didn’t feel left out, he hated that half the world’s fucking media revolved around stories of finding ‘the one’, and he hated that everyone was so fucking obsessed with it all. 

He didn’t get it, and everytime he told Mandy as much she’d tell him that of course he didn’t because he was a cynical prick who’s been able to see the world the way it was intended to be seen since the day he was born. 

They were sitting next to each other on the old shitty grey couch, Mickey was trying to play videogames and Mandy was bothering the shit out of him. 

“Would you hate _me_ for running into someone's arms when I find out _we’re_ destined to be together?” She asked, bringing her face as close to his as humanly possible and batting her eyelashes innocently. 

“Why the fuck wouldn’t I? If I ever have to watch you publicly jump someone I’m draggin’ you home using the pink strands of your hair as a fuckin’ leash. That shit’s disgusting.”

Mandy sighed, “you’re such a dick.”

Mickey just shrugged and continued killing zombies on the TV.

Mandy huffed loudly beside him, kept sighing until Mickey paused the game and turned to her, quirking an eyebrow exasperation.

“What, Mands, Jesus.” 

“Why do you never talk about it?” 

“Talk about what?” 

She just sighed again, “the soulmate thing, the fact that you have your colors, dumbass. I know you hate when I ask you the colors of things but it’s because that’s the only time you ever  _ talk  _ about it, Mick.” She had completely draped herself across Mickey, going way beyond the limits of personal space. 

“Because it’s none of your fuckin’ business what I can and can’t see, bitch, now get off me.”

“No.” 

“ _ No?  _ And why the fuck not?” 

“Because I can tell something’s bothering you and I don’t like seeing you so tense. Would it kill you to talk to your sister  _ once  _ in your fucking  _ life _ ? It’s not like Terry’s here to beat you for bein’ gay and talking about your feelings.”

“But I am!” And  _ fuck _ . 

Mickey hadn’t planned on letting that out, he was fully content living his life and never having his sister know he liked guys. He figured he’d get killed in some form or fashion before that detail of his life ever made it into a conversation with Mandy. 

“You’re  _ what _ , Mickey?” 

She was giving him an out, that or she didn’t get it. She was letting him shrug and say it was nothing before storming off to his room. 

If Mickey was any smarter, he would do just that.

“I’m  _ fuckin’  _ gay, Mands. Big ol’ ‘mo. Happy now? Happy that you finally had a heart to heart with your big brother? What’re you gonna do? Call Dad? Iggy? Tell them I’m a queer and get me killed?  _ What _ , Mandy?” 

Mandy was lookin’ at him with a pained expression in her eyes, he figures if he kept yelling he would’ve made her cry.

“I- I didn’t- Mick-” 

“Whatever,” he hissed as he stormed to his room, slamming the door shut behind him. He didn’t lock it, a part of him hoping Mandy would seek him out. He didn’t want to talk about it, fuck no, but he liked the feeling that came with knowing Mandy cared. 

Not even five minutes later, his bedroom door was opening with a creak and Mandy was poking her head in, overly lined eyes apologetic.

“You know I don’t care, right? Iggy won’t either. Not… not everyone is like Dad, Mick.

Mickey felt something deep inside him break. He knows Mandy would never do anything to hurt him, and he felt like an ass for making her feel like he thought she was anything like their father. 

“I know, Mands, but that doesn’t make it any less fuckin’ terrifying.” 

“Did you ever plan on telling me?” Mickey didn’t answer, just looked away from his sister. It’s not that he didn’t trust her, but a part of him could barely admit it to himself, much less anybody else. 

“Right.” 

She made a move to stand up but Mickey pulled her down. As much as he didn’t want to talk about it, he didn’t want Mandy mad at him either, especially not over something like this. 

“I never planned on telling anybody.” 

“Does anyone else know?” 

Mickey shook his head. That seemed to placate his sister, at least she was the first one to find out, even if it wasn’t something Mickey had wanted. 

“So…” she started, and when Mickey looked up to face her she had a devilish grin on her face. “Are you and Ian, y’know… a thing?” she said wiggling her eyebrows. Mickey scoffed and pushed her away, but that just spurred Mandy on even more. 

“C’mon!” she whined, bouncing on his bed and shaking Mickey as if the answers would fall out of his pockets if she only shook him with enough vigor. 

“Shut up. Get out.” But that only made Mandy squeal. 

Girls, man. He was never gonna get them. 

“Holy shit, Mick, you  _ like  _ him. You  _ like  _ him like him.” She was practically screaming in his ear and Mickey desperately wanted her to get her shrilling to quiet down, but it seemed God had different plans because Mandy continued. “This is perfect, why didn’t anyone ever think of this before? Both of you have been seeing colors since you were born, so it’s not like you’d have the issue of ever leaving each other for someone else. Mickey, this is brilliant!” 

“Brilliant, my ass. No fuckin’ way I’m stickin’ it in Gallagher.”  _ I’d rather he stick it in me, _ he thought but didn’t say. Mandy had already discovered enough in one afternoon as it is, he didn’t need her knowing his sexual preferences just to top it all off. 

He could practically hear Mandy’s eye roll. 

“I’m not an idiot, Mickey. He clearly likes  _ you _ . Why not go for it?”  _ Because it’s reckless, because it’s stupid, because if it doesn’t work out Mickey doesn’t know what he would do with himself.  _

“I can’t. I’m not gonna go ‘n fuckin’ ruin everythin’ alright?! So just drop it, this shit’s none of your fuckin’ business!” He saw the way Mandy’s face fell, and immediately wished he could take his screaming back. He should know better than to yell at her. 

“Got it, Mick. Next time I just won’t give a shit,” she said as she got up and left his room.

Mickey couldn’t even bring himself to feel bad about the situation. As far as coming out’s go, he figured this was the best he was ever going to get. 

+++

They were lying on Ian’s bed staring at the old glow in the dark stars on the ceiling getting high together. For once they were the only ones in the Gallagher house, everyone else seemed to have plans made already. 

It was weird having the house so quiet, and Mickey found that he couldn’t stop hoping someone would come barreling through the front door and filling up the silence. 

Ever since his talk with Mandy, he’s been dreading being alone with Ian. He’s been finding excuses all week trying to avoid him, but he knows he could only push that so far before Ian started getting suspicious. 

Mickey had even hung out with a girl in his grade, Anna, who he knew had a crush on him out of desperation just so he could turn down Ian’s invitation to the dugouts. 

He was pathetic.

“How was it hangin’ out with Anna? She your, uh, girlfriend now or something?” Ian asked, but there was a tone to his voice that made it seem like he didn’t want to know the answer. 

Maybe he was reading into it. Maybe Ian didn’t want to know the answer because he just didn’t care, but a stupid, hopeless part of Mickey wondered if it could be that Ian was jealous. 

“Nah, not my type. She gave pretty good head, though.” 

Ian sat up, leaning on his elbow so he could stare at Mickey. 

“What is your type?” He asked quietly, voice barely above a whisper. This was it, he could either make something up like ‘blonde hair, blue eyes, long legs’ or he could pull Ian down and crash their lips together, a more show than tell approach to his answer. 

“Y’know, like… hot? Doesn’t bitch too much? What’s it to you, man, since when do you give a shit?” 

Ian was slowly leaning in, his face right beside Mickey’s ear. 

“I think you’re lying, Mickey. I think you know  _ exactly  _ what your type is.” And, holy fuck, when did Gallagher get so ballsy? Maybe it was a side effect of the weed, he’d have to ask Iggy if the new shit he was buying was laced when he got home. 

Or maybe Ian had finally figured it out. 

Mickey gulped and nodded, not knowing what to say. Ian smirked and started making his way down Mickey’s body. 

“Yeah, Mick? Know your type, do you?” 

Mickey sat up and pushed Ian the rest of the way down so he was level with his crotch. 

“Yeah, I know my type. Anyone who looks good on their knees.” 

Ian’s grin nearly split his face. He might be the only person in the world who’d take that as a compliment, most girls Mickey knows would’ve taken offense to that but, well, he figures Ian probably isn’t like most girls. 

He watches in amazement as Ian undoes his belt and unbuckles his jeans, pulling them down with his boxers so they’re sitting just below his ass, exposing his hard-on. He wastes no time wrapping his fingers around Mickey’s cock, leaning down and licking teasingly at the head before wrapping his lips around it. 

Mickey lets out a staggered breath, “that feels pretty good.” 

Ian smirked, the grin looking kind of lopsided as his mouth was stretched wide around Mickey’s cock. Ian pulled off for a second, jerking him slowly before moving to plant open mouth kisses around the base and moving upwards. He went back to teasing at the head, his slow, short licks driving Mickey insane. 

“Stop fuckin’ teasin’ and do something, Gallagher, fuck,” Mickey ran his hands through his hair to keep them from wrapping around Ian’s neck and shoving him forcefully down his cock.  

Thankfully, Ian Gallagher was a good listener, and soon his lips were wrapped around Mickey again, this time going until Mickey was hitting the back of Ian’s throat.    


Ian started bobbing his head, and Mickey groaned at the feeling. Ian’s cheeks were hollowed around his dick, and, yeah, Mickey was right. 

It’s way better when he doesn’t have to think of Ian, and can just watch him instead. 

He keeps his hands at his sides, bunching the sheets in his fists. He doesn’t know the protocol with guys, the only guy that ever sucked him off was the guy from the club, and he barely has any memory of that moment.

With girls it’s never been a problem, everytime a girl gave him a blowjob he would try to get off as quickly as possible. He’d push their heads down and boss them around, he felt bad about it, sure, but that’s what was expected of him. 

Any girl that got into it with him knew what it would be like- hard and fast, and he was okay with that. 

He didn’t want that with Ian, though. He wanted to remember it, and he wanted it to last. 

But  _ fuck  _ he didn’t know how long he’d be able to with Ian staring up at him, eyes glossed over with lust, bobbing his head up and down on Mickey’s dick obscenely. He ran one of his hands through Ian’s hair, grabbing it lightly before pulling off and moving them back to his side. 

Ian must’ve realized his distress with the whole situation, because he pulled off for a second and told him “you can grab my hair, y’know. I like it.” 

And Jesus  _ fuck.  _ The raspiness of Ian’s voice from going down on him went straight to his dick, making a bit of precome spurt from the tip and causing a shudder to run through him. Ian grinned at him, and sucked him down. 

Mickey quickly fisted his hands in Ian’s hair and pushed him down until his face was nestled against Mickey’s stomach. Mickey felt Ian swallowing around his cock where it was hitting the back of his throat and moaned, letting go of Ian and letting him pull back. 

The next time Ian took him all the way was of his own volition. Mickey watched as Ian moved up and down the length of his cock. His eyes were shut and his lips were red and shiny with spit. The most absurd part of it was the fact that he seemed to be enjoying it. 

When Ian opened his eyes and looked up at him it was almost enough for him to come on the spot. Mickey moaned loudly, and Ian took that as a hint to pick up the pace, bobbing his head shallowly and using his hand to cover what he couldn’t reach. 

“Shit, fuck, fuck- Ian I’m gonna,  _ fuck-”  _ he said as his orgasm hit him, Ian pulled off at the last minute so most of the come landed around his mouth instead of down his throat. He kept a steady hand on Mickey, jerking him through, only letting go once Mickey began wincing due to the sensitivity. 

That’s when the realization that he had just gotten a blowjob from his best friend settled. 

Shit. 

Not much he could do at that moment, so he tried to be as casual as possible, pulling up his pants and buckling his belt up again. Like it wasn’t a big deal at all that Ian just made him come on his face. 

The smug look on Ian’s face as he wiped the come off his chin with the back of his hand was obscene enough to have Mickey’s dick twitch where it was lying completely spent against his thigh. 

“Want me to, uh, help you out?” He cringed at his own wording, but it’s not like it was an offer he ever made. He doesn’t think he ever went down on a girl after being blown, too weirded out by the idea of eating pussy.

Doing what Ian had just done to him, though, he could get behind.

“I-uh. I’m good, actually,” Ian said with a blush, turning away from Mickey with a sheepish look on his face. 

It took a second, but Mickey finally got it. 

“Did you come in your fucking  _ pants?  _ Christ, Red.” He was teasing Ian, but in reality he found it hot as fuck. Ian mustnot have been faking how much he was liking it if it was enough to make him come in pants like an inexperienced fucking virgin. 

“Shut up. Maybe."

Mickey shoved him lightly, trying to fight off any tension before it settled and made things awkward. Ian laughs and shoves him back, turning around and grabbing another joint. He lit it and laid back down, going back to the positions they were in before he took Mickey’s dick in his mouth. 

Mickey took the joint from Ian’s hands and took a drag, exhaling as he looked at the glow in the dark stars that seemed a lot brighter now than he remembered them being. 

They smoked the joint until there was nothing left and fell into a comfortable silence. 

It was easy to tell exactly when the rest of the Gallaghers got home; Fiona shouting at everyone to stop being useless and help her carry the groceries into the kitchen. Mickey stretched lazily before sitting up and looking over at Ian who was fast asleep.

Mickey smiled softly and ruffled his hair as he got up and made his way down to kitchen to help Fiona with dinner. She nodded at him as he came down the stairs in greeting and wasted no time in telling him what she needed him to help with. 

“We’re gonna have to make more than that, Mickey. Kev and V are comin’ over for dinner tonight,” she said, smiling at him as she opened the fridge and took out whatever they had that could be used to cook dinner. 

Mickey groaned and doubled the amount of potatoes he was cutting. Kevin Ball ate more than anybody he knew. It was impressive how much he managed to scarf down in one sitting. 

Him and Fiona worked side by side in silence, Mickey at the point where him and Fiona were equally familiar with the kitchen. 

It was once everything was finished and set on top of the stove to cool down, that Fiona asked him where Ian was. 

“He’s up in his room, sleeping.” 

Fiona waggled her eyebrows, “tired him out, huh?” 

Mickey rolled his eyes and scoffed, choosing not to comment on how true that statement was. 

Once the table was set and Kev and V had arrived with whiskey and a cacophony of noise, Mickey went up the stairs to wake up a still sleeping Ian. 

Only years of training in a house as noisy as the Gallaghers could lead to someone sleeping as deeply as Ian. 

Mickey knew the only sure-fire way to get him up was with violence, no gently rubbing his shoulder shit. He grabbed a handful of Carl’s toy cars from the floor and proceeded to pelt them at Ian’s back one by one. 

“Fuck off,” Ian grumbled, but Mickey just smiled and threw harder. 

Ian turned around and put his hands up to keep the cars from hitting him in the face. “Jesus, you this nice to everyone who sucks your dick?” 

Mickey chucks the last car with as much force as he can manage. “Just the annoying ones. C’mon it’s dinner time. I made the potatoes, let’s go.” 

“You tellin’ me that so I make sure not to eat them?” Ian teased, but got out of bed and followed Mickey out of his room and down to the kitchen. 

The kitchen was a mess, as one would expect. There was flour covering the counters and Mickey was almost certain there was a raw egg on the floor by the sink. Everyone was crowding around the dishes trying to get enough on their plates before there was no more food left. 

Kevin and Veronica were yelling at each other, Mickey didn’t know what about. Debbie was making futile attempts to get Carl to stop mashing a barbie doll’s head in her potatoes, to which Carl responded by mashing it with more force. Lip was trying to feed Liam who was sat on his lap, but everytime he put food in Liam’s mouth, Liam would just spit it right back out on his hand. 

Dinner at the Gallaghers was one of Mickey’s favorite things.

He never had to worry about talking too loud or saying something he didn’t want anyone else hearing. It was a calmness that only existed in the unruliness of the Gallagher household. When he was younger, it freaked him the fuck out. Terry had always been good at scaring them into never speaking unless necessary, and the Milkovich house was one that was typically silent save for the occasional grunts and fighting. 

Mickey and Ian stood around and waited until Debbie started chasing after Carl, the two boys taking up the newly empty seats before the younger kids got back. Mickey watched as Ian quickly joined in on the conversation, cracking a couple jokes at his sibling’s expenses. 

Mickey stayed silent. Choosing to observe rather than participate, for once. They were in the middle of grilling Fiona about Jimmy-Steve when Mickey felt Ian’s hand making it’s way up his thigh. 

He didn’t even have to look at the redhead to know how smug the grin on his face was. 

Mickey didn’t say anything, didn’t acknowledge the hand on his thigh slowly creeping up towards his crotch. If he pushed Ian’s hand away then everybody would know where it had been, and Fiona already acted like she knew too much, he didn’t need her  _ actually  _ knowing anything. 

Mickey pondered what to do for a minute before he realized- 

_ Two could play at this game _ . 

Mickey waited a second, let Ian think he had a leg up in their little game. 

Ian was in the middle of telling a story when Mickey place his hand directly onto his crotch. He watched Ian from the corner of his eye. Annoyingly enough, he was unfazed save for the slight hitch in his breath when Mickey cupped his dick through his jeans. 

Ian’s lack of reaction just spurred him on further. 

He went slowly, not wanting anyone else at the table to catch on to what was going on below the table. He took his time, making sure Ian was sufficiently hard through his jeans before he worked on unbuckling his pants. 

As soon as Ian’s dick was freed Mickey wrapped his hand around it. Ian visibly shuddered, eyes bulging wide before he pretended to cough and readjusted himself in his seat, trying his best to continue the conversation with composure. 

Mickey smirked, he could see why Ian was enjoyed riling him up before. He tugged on Ian’s cock slowly, using the hand that wasn’t wrapped around his best friend to continue eating his dinner as though nothing was happening. 

The more he pulled, the more breathless Ian became. He was lucky the conversation had shifted away from his ROTC practice over to the shit Kevin has to deal with from the customers at the Alibi. 

Mickey could tell when Ian was about to come because his eyebrows drew close together and he kept chewing on his bottom lip, trying desperately to hold his moans in. His breathing became rapid and shallow, and Mickey knew it wouldn’t take much more to send him over the edge. 

He quickened his pace, tightened his grip around Ian’s cock. Ian squirmed in his seat and moaned lightly, quiet enough that it was drowned out under the noise from the rest of the table, and came, coating Mickey’s hand where it was wrapped around him. 

Mickey made sure to school his expression. No matter how badly he wanted to grin and tease Ian for being so easy, he couldn’t let anybody know. 

He kept his hand on Ian’s lap until he had calmed down completely before wiping his jizz covered hand on Ian’s pants. He was relatively silent for the rest of the dinner, enjoying the looks Ian kept sending him. 

It was well past one in the morning by the time Mickey decided he should make his way home. He was halfway out of their front yard when he heard the front door open. He turned around to find Lip standing there with a cigarette nearly falling from his mouth. 

“Hey, uh, Mickey?” 

Mickey quirked an eyebrow in interest. 

“Try being a little more subtle next time, yeah?” 

Well. Fuck. 

+++

Throughout the next couple of weeks, the two seemed to develop a tentative fuckbuddies relationship that Mickey never expected to develop with the other boy. Ian would blow him behind the bleachers at school, Mickey would give him fast and dirty handjobs in the bathroom at the Alibi, he even realized how much easier it was to wake up Ian by wrapping a hand around his cock rather than hitting him with inanimate objects. 

Mickey had yet to suck him off though, too scared of having an… actual  _ dick  _ in his  _ mouth  _ to even get to worrying about how gay that would be. 

They hadn’t fucked either, and they  _ definitely  _ hadn’t kissed. That would just blur lines Mickey was too lazy to redraw, and he didn’t need his relationship with Ian to be messy, not when everything else in his life already was. 

It was rare that they ever had the Milkovich house to themselves. Sure, the Gallaghers had eighteen  million of them running around, but Fiona usually managed to align their schedules up enough that most of the kids were out at the same time. 

So, they had the house to themselves, and they were taking full advantage of it. Mickey was jerking Ian slowly, the two making a game to see who could get the highest score on a video game before coming. Currently, it seemed like Ian was set to win. 

Mickey figured it was because he couldn’t last very long with Ian’s mouth wrapped around him, and Mickey’s hand, while good, clearly wasn’t going to be good enough. 

He figured a blowjob wasn’t gay if it was used as a means to win a competition. 

Ian didn’t even notice him lowering his head, too engrossed in the video game. Mickey kept jerking him steadily, making sure he had no faults in his rhythm, before licking the head of Ian’s cock. 

Ian jumped, obviously not expecting it, but once he had recomposed himself, he ushered Mickey to keep going. 

Mickey’s never been good at following orders, but he figured today he could make an exception. 

He wrapped his mouth around just the tip of Ian’s dick, not wanting to go down  _ too  _ far and choke and make everything uncomfortable. He kept his hand moving up and down Ian’s length as he continued sucking lightly on the head, trying to mimic things he knows Ian does that drive him up the wall. 

It wasn’t long before Ian was putting the controller down and abandoning the game altogether. 

“ _ Shit _ , Mickey- don’t stop  _ fuck- oh. _ ” Breathless moans kept falling from Ian’s lips, which were red and slick with spit from how much he had been biting them (something Mickey realized he does a lot during sex). 

Mickey quickened his pace, daring to bob his head further down and take more of Ian down his throat. 

He heard Ian hiss from above him and looked up at him, who looked to be feeling more pain than pleasure, like Mickey didn’t have his cock literally in his throat. The ungrateful bastard. 

“Mick, your teeth- careful with the teeth.” 

Yeah, okay, fair. 

Mickey pulled all the way off, and it was only as he was about to swallow around Ian again that he remembered something and stopped his movements completely. 

“The fuck are you doin’ that for?” If Mickey wasn’t so afraid of sounding like some queerbo fairy he’d probably spend ages talking about how hot it was that Ian got so breathless when someone just  _ touched  _ his dick. 

“It’s your birthday in two weeks.”

“Really? You have my dick in your mouth for the first time ever, which, you’re totally cheating just to win but  _ fuck  _ does it feel good, anyway- you have my dick in your mouth and you’re thinking of my  _ birthday _ ? That’s sweet, Mick, but can we wait until after?  _ Please?” _

Mickey rolls his eyes but goes back down. It doesn’t take too long before Ian is chanting his name and telling him he’s about to come. Not willing to swallow, Mickey pulls away and finishes Ian off with his hand, wiping his hand on one of the blankets laid out on the couch.

He looked at Ian who was facing the ceiling with a blissed out look on his face and punched him in the stomach.

“What the fuck was that for?!”

“I won, firecrotch.”

“You had to hit me to say that? Asshole.”

“Didn’t have to but it’s always more fun.”

They fell into a calm silence, Ian still coming down from his orgasm, and Mickey having nothing to say to fill the quiet.

Eventually he got up off the couch and went to the kitchen to get two beers. He was standing in front of the fridge when he looked back at the living room and saw Ian hastily trying to put his pants back on, and smiled.

That was when he realized what had just happened. 

He, Mickey Milkovich, had sucked a guy off. Ever since his conversation with Mandy, he’s been slowly opening up to the idea that he doesn’t need to find straight excuses for all the shit he does.

He doesn’t know how the fuck he’d explain what just happened if he still thought everything needed to be as no homo as possible.

The worst part, though, was that he didn’t even hate it. He could see why Ian liked it so much, could see why the girls that had sucked him off before had seemed to enjoy it. It wasn’t like it was about to become his new favorite thing, fuck no, but it wasn’t that bad either.

Dicks taste a lot like what you would expect, not that Mickey spent a lot of time fantasizing about what dicks would taste like, but it wasn’t wholly unpleasant. It was definitely masculine, musky and sweaty but there was the faint hint of Ian’s body wash mixed in that didn’t make for the worst experience of Mickey’s life.

Like fucking hell would he admit it, though.

When he got back to the couch, Ian was already smiling at him. He handed him the beer and planted himself beside the other boy, kicking his feet up on the coffee table and subsequently causing a dvd, a gun, and three of Mandy’s nail polish bottles to fall to the floor.

“So,” Ian started, “what were saying about my birthday earlier that distracted you enough to pull my dick out of your mouth?”

“C’mon, man, don’t fuckin’ say that.”

“Say what? That you had my dick in your mouth?”

Mickey rolled his eyes, but he could tell there was a faint blush on his cheeks. “Yes. Shut the fuck up or it’s never happening again.”

“I can get my hopes up that you’ll  _ suck my dick  _ again if I just stop talking about my dick being in your mouth?”

Mickey shoved him off the couch. “Get the fuck out of my house, Army.”

“But whose dick will you suck if I’m not here?”

“Get out!” Mickey grabbed one of the pillows laying on the couch and started to hit Ian with it, making sure to hit hard enough to do some damage.

“Okay fuck I’ll stop I’ll stop! But seriously- what were saying about my birthday?” Ian asked through laughter, one hand clutching his stomach and the other still raised to protect his head from Mickey’s blows.

“Nothin’, man, I just remembered. Gotta figure out what the fuck we’re gonna do, right?”

Ian’s birthday had become somewhat of a tradition. He’d spend the day with his family, get showered by their love and affection while he generally ignores Mickey’s existence until it’s already night time. The past nine years they’ve met up at the baseball dugouts, some origin story bullshit Ian came up with one time.

They meet up at the dugouts, Mickey gives him his present, and they spend the rest of the night eating the handfuls of candy Mickey stole from the supermarket in the next neighborhood over.

It was Ian’s seventeenth birthday, though, and Mickey was feeling enough like a sentimental bitch to want to do something special.

“Figured we’d just go to the dugouts as usual, right? No need to make a big deal out of it, I know Fiona already plans on doing that as it is.”

Mickey hummed in response, he figured he’d have to keep whatever he came up with a surprise, and he didn’t really mind. Mickey hated surprises, but he had no problem surprising anybody else.

That night, once Ian had left after a few rounds of orgasm-less games, Mickey went on to the computer in Terry’s old room and started looking for things he and Ian could do for his birthday. He looked up ‘birthday ideas’ and started scrolling through various lists and pinterest links, but all of the ideas were boring as fuck and clearly written by middle aged women that hadn’t celebrated a birthday since they’d turned thirty.

He was about to forget it, it’s not like Ian wanted them to do anything out of the ordinary this year anyways, when he saw something that said ‘take them to out to see their favorite band’.

Mickey quickly started looking around to see if any of Ian’s favorite bands were playing nearby. Luckily, most of what Ian listened to was shitty alternative local stuff, so once he  _ did  _ find a band that was playing, he figured it’d be pretty cheap.

He eventually found a group, Hippo campus _ ,  _ that Ian had been into since they were in middle school. Mickey fuckin’ hated their sound, it was too pretentious and indie for him to get into, but tickets to their gig were cheap and fell on the night of Ian’s birthday, so he would have to suck it up for a night.

He figured he’d go down to the venue the next day and get the tickets there, too tired to go through all of his pants in search of a credit card so he could buy it online.

He trudged to bed and fell asleep quickly, dreaming of boys with green eyes and smiles that made Mickey feel like his head would explode.

+++

“You been to see Dad since he was locked up again?” Iggy asked around a mouthful of eggs. Him and Colin were around less and less with each passing day, Iggy had found an apartment he could afford and Colin was staying on his girlfriend’s parents’ couch. They never felt the need to be around anymore, and while Mickey liked having the house to him and Mandy most of the time, it was nice to have his brothers back.

“Why in the fuck would I do that?” Mickey answered, guards already being put up. He had no reason to visit Terry, and he had no desire to see the guy’s face when he was around, let alone of his own accord.

Iggy shrugged. “He’s our dad and he’s only in jail for shooting your little fairy friend, figured you would’ve gone to see him or somethin’.”

Mickey flared his nostrils, trying to keep from doing something stupid like kicking Iggy out for talking about Ian like that.

“Yeah, or somethin’.”

“Y’know he said he’d kill that redhead fag if he ever got out of jail? Wouldn’t be too bad, not like the Gallagher house needs another mouth to be feedin’,” Colin spoke up from where he was cleaning his gun.

“Wouldn’t mind feedin’ the mouth of the oldest bitch, if you know what I’m saying,” Iggy winked, making a lewd gesture to show Colin the only thing he’d be feeding anybody was his dick.

Mickey had had enough. Sure, Fiona was a pain in the ass sometimes with her  _ I know something you don’t  _ looks and her constant nagging about making sure Mickey kept all his weapons out of Carl’s reach, but she was more family than his fuckhead brothers had ever been, and he wasn’t about to let anyone talk shit about his family.

Mandy clearly must’ve noticed what was about to happen, because she rolled her eyes and mouthed to Mickey that she was going to leave, mumbling something about dumbass brothers and going to meet her friends at the park as she walked away. .

Mickey waited until he was sure Mandy wasn’t going to get caught up in his issues before he spoke up.

“Get the fuck out,” Mickey warned, his tone giving no room for argument.

Didn’t mean Iggy and Colin weren’t gonna argue.

“What?” Iggy asked, clearly not getting where Mickey was coming from.

“You fuckin’ heard me, no reason I should have to go repeatin’ myself in my own fuckin’ house. I told you jerkoffs to get the fuck out of my house, goodbye!”

Colin got the reason why before Iggy did, always a little quicker on the uptake than their other brother.

“You kickin’ us out for badmouthin’ a fag? No wonder you haven’t gone to see Dad, he probably only shot your little boyfriend because he caught you two with each other’s dicks up your asses.”

Mickey was quick to land a punch to Colin’s nose, who had gotten up and started crowding around Mickey threateningly.

“Not.” A punch to the jaw. “A fuckin’.” A kick to his balls. “ _ Fag, _ ” he spat, bringing his knee up to collide with Colin’s stomach. He hadn’t noticed Iggy getting up to back up Colin until he felt fat, grubby fingers wrapping around his neck and tugging him backwards. He elbowed Iggy wherever he could until his hands loosened around his throat and he was able to turn around.

He pushed Iggy onto the floor with the intent to kick the shit out of him once he was laying down.

Mickey hadn’t planned for Iggy to pull him down with him and slam his head against the wooden floor.

He faintly registered the blood and the throbbing in his face, too busy making sure Iggy suffered a much worse fate than he did.

He got up, somehow, even with the bruising and the weakness in his limbs, and looked at Colin than at Iggy who was lying on the floor curled up in the fetal position.

“I’m not sayin’ it again, douchebags. Don’t fuckin’ talk about them like that, otherwise I won’t go so easy on you next time.” He tried to sound as threatening as he could considering he was out of breath and he was pretty sure his face was a mix of blues and purples and reds. Thankfully, Iggy and Colin got the message and got up to leave with a huff.

As they were walking out, Colin turned around and faced Mickey.

“Dad’s gonna kill you when he gets out. Can’t wait to tell him little Mickey’s turned out to be a cocksucker. You’re a fuckin’ dead man, Mick.”

Mickey said nothing, just slammed the door before slumping against it, falling to the ground. He sent Ian a text telling him to bring over the first aid kit. Ian replied with a string of question marks, and Mickey didn’t have the strength in him to reply.

He curled in on himself and just hoped Ian would show up soon.

Mickey doesn’t know how long he was out for, he just knows that when he reopened his eyes he was met the worried face of Ian Gallagher.

It took a few more seconds for him to start feeling the throbbing in his face and the pain coming from the bruises in his knuckles. He winced when Ian grabbed his hand, pulling away so Ian’s fingers would stop trailing over the sensitive skin.

“Sorry,” he said, but he didn’t sound all that apologetic.

Ian carefully wrapped Mickey around him and tried to get him to walk as best as he could to the dingy bathroom at the end of the hallway. He sat Mickey down on the closed toilet and started rifling through Mickey’s medicine cabinet as well as the first aid ziploc bag he had brought with him.

Mickey watched as he grabbed a damp cloth and started wiping the blood off Mickey’s face. His hands were gentle, but his touch was firm. Calm washed over him as he felt the soft pads of Ian’s fingers pressing lightly into his cheeks, every point of contact he had with the other boy seemed to both light him on fire and cool him down.

He figured he was just feverish, his body worn out from trying to heal the various cuts on him at the same time.

Ian tilted his head up so he was looking at him directly and inspected every inch of his face, turning his head left and right trying to see from every angle, like he knew what the fuck he was doing and wasn’t just a sixteen year old with half a high school education.

“How’d this even  _ happen,  _ Mick?” His voice was barely above a whisper, and it made Mickey’s body feel like it was crawling around underneath his skin. Everything about this felt too intimate, Ian with his delicate fingers and Ian who spoke with understanding concern and Ian who was taking care of him after Mickey defended him from his brothers.

Something foreign settled itself deep in his stomach, carved a home within him without even asking Mickey first. He figures even if it had asked, Mickey wouldn’t have been able to say no.

Mickey’s throat was tight, and he found that for the first time in his life he was nervous to speak around Ian. He was somewhere between crying and throwing up and he knew if he tried speaking at least one of those things was bound to happen.

Still, Ian pressed.

“What happened, Mickey?” And it was too gentle, it wasn’t angry, it wasn’t disappointed. It was nauseating, is what it was. “You can tell me.”

“My brothers were sayin’ shit. I kicked ‘em out, but not before they tried beating the shit out of me.” He hadn’t realized one of his brothers managed a blow to his jaw until he started speaking and noticed the ache as he spoke. Ian’s eyebrows furrowed in concern, his bottom lip jutting out in an angry sort of pseudo pout. “Don’t worry, man, you should see the other guys,” he tried to joke but it fell flat. Ian smiled at him anyway.

“You don’t do…  _ this _ just because your idiot brothers were sayin’ shit, Mick,” Ian said. And he was right, but Mickey couldn’t tell him he fought his brothers off for talking shit about Ian, about Fiona. He doesn’t know how he would justify getting a beating from Iggy and Colin just in an attempt to defend the Gallaghers’ honor.

Mickey couldn’t tell him, but he did anyway, because he was a stupid fucking idiot that didn’t know how to keep his mouth shut, it seemed.

“They were talkin’ shit ‘bout you and Fi.”

And, yeah, Mickey should’ve kept his fuckin’ mouth shut because the look Ian sends him makes the foreign feeling in his stomach do a double take. He feels like he’s on some sort of roller coaster with how much his stomach keeps jumping around, Christ.

“This is because they were talking and me and Fiona? You got half the life beat out of you because your idiot brothers were talking about me?”

Mickey sighed, “they said Dad was gonna kill you as soon as he got out of prison. Callin’ you a fag, saying they were gonna get Fiona to blow them. Something about it just… fuck, man. Next thing I knew I had Colin in a headlock swingin’ at his stomach.”

Ian’s laughter filled the small room, Mickey didn’t know what was so goddamn funny.

He crossed his arms over his chest petulantly, annoyed that Ian was finding the whol thing so amusing.

“Oh, Mick, you’re my knight in shining armor, aren’t you? My very own prince charming.” Ian pretended to wipe tears of joys from his eyes.

“Fuck you, I was defending Fiona they just happened to mention your dumb name.” It was a weak attempt and they both knew it, but Mickey wouldn’t be Mickey if he just let Ian have his satisfaction.

“You love me.”

“You’re a pain in my ass.”

“You  _ wish  _ I was in your ass.”

_ Yeah I do _ , Mickey thought but didn’t say. Nobody needed Ian Gallagher to have a bigger ego than he already did.

Ian stayed until Fiona called him and told him he had to come home.

“Don’t worry, I’ll tell her I was taking care of her knight in shining armor and I’m sure she’ll have no problem with me getting home a little late.”

If asked, Mickey would blame the pounding in his head, the ache in his body, the feeling still present in his stomach, and the fact that he was very much exhausted for the way he leans up and presses a soft kiss to Ian’s cheek.

“G’night, prince charming.” 

Ian smiles and kisses him on the forehead, mindful of the scratches and the bruises. 

“Night, Mick.” 

+++

Ian was supposed to have met him at the park fifteen minutes ago, and Mickey was starting to get antsy. It was his birthday, and like every other birthday since they met, they had agreed to meet at the park at six so they could celebrate just the two of them away from Ian’s hoard of siblings.

He’s never been late, and the one year Mickey plans on doing something  _ other  _ than sitting around and talking (and, as they’ve gotten older, getting high) Ian decides to be late. Typical.

He was about to pull out his phone and send an angry thread of texts to his best friend when he saw red hair approaching in the distance.

“Sorry! Sorry, Fiona made a big deal about like I said she would. Invited more people than I knew what to do with. She made me say goodbye to them all before I could leave.”

Mickey smiled at him. Ian’s hair was wild and messy, his face was flushed from running, cheeks a light pink.

“You mean Fiona invited more people over than just Kev and V?” Mickey faked bewilderment, knowing damn well Fiona knew just about everyone in their town.

“Sadly,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “Jimmy-Steve was there being a prick as usual,” he complained, but he was smiling.

Ian had always been like that. He’d always loved birthdays, no matter how many times Mickey told him it was stupid, that it just meant he was another year closer to dying. Ian never saw it like that, always the fucking optimist. He always said it was another year you had lived and that that alone was reason to celebrate. Mickey thought he was an idiot, but he liked how happy birthdays made Ian. He liked that he still found such a simple pleasure in them even now.

“Sucks, man, but we don’t have time to stay here and chat. It’s your birthday, and we have plans.” Mickey started walking towards the train platform, not even bothering to check if Ian was following behind him.

“We have plans? Mick,” he sighed, “I told you I didn’t want to do anything more this year. Bad enough Fiona thinks seventeen is something special, I don’t need you doing anything for me too. I like our tradition.”

Mickey shrugged, “I guess you don’t want to go see Hippo Campus with me, then?” he asked with a smirk, knowing there was no way Ian would keep up with his ‘I don’t want anything’ act.

Bullshit. 

“No way,” Ian said, a manic grin spreading over his face.

Mickey just nodded. 

“Oh  _ fuck  _ yeah. Oh man, where did you even find these?” he asked, holding up the two tickets Mikey had pulled out of his pocket. 

“They materialized in my pants,” he deadpanned. “I fuckin’ bought them, bitch, how else do you think I’d get them?” 

“Through theft. Forgery, maybe.” 

“Alright, big guy, but I didn’t. I got these totally legally from the venue they were selling at. Paid the damn tax and everything.” 

Ian had the nerve to look impressed. 

“What’s that fuckin’ look for?” Mickey asked defensively. He paid for shit sometimes, alright, Ian didn’t have look so shocked at the prospect of Mickey doing something the way the law intended him to. 

“What look?” Ian shot back innocently, smiling at Mickey as they got onto the train. 

The ride to the venue was filled with Ian telling stories about his day. The new shirt Lip and Fiona had gotten him, the card that was clearly made by Debbie but that Carl tacked his name onto. Frank made an appearance half way through the day, gave Ian a mostly empty bottle of whiskey before he passed out and got dragged outside by Kev and Lip. Jimmy-Steve didn’t show up until five minutes before Ian was leaving, drunk and with multiple bruises on his face that Ian did not stay long enough to find out the origin story of. 

By the time the train doors opened, Ian was shaking next to him in excitement, the tales of his day long forgotten. 

They walked to the venue quickly, not wanting to waste any more time than they already had. By the time they got there, the doors were already open and people had already started filing in. 

Mickey was unbothered, he was perfectly fine standing in the back and just listening to the music with Ian. It was clear that Ian was okay with it too, since he was making no effort to push to the front, content with their little corner of the room. 

The concert started, everyone screaming as soon as the band stepped on stage. Mickey didn’t pay too much attention to them, choosing instead to watch Ian in front of him. 

Mickey knew Ian wasn’t the scrawny little kid he was two years ago. But it was one thing knowing it, and one thing seeing it dancing in front of his face. 

Ian was in a tight blue shirt, the thin material being stretched over the muscles of his arms. Ian clearly knew how  _ good _ he looked, dancing and moving his body in ways that should be illegal, especially in a public place. The slow, senseless way he was dancing to the bands slower, more erotic songs, had a blush blooming high on Mickey’s cheekbones. 

At one point, Ian turned around and started dancing with Mickey (well- less  _ with  _ Mickey, more  _ on  _ Mickey) and he thought his head was going to unscrew from his neck and soar straight into the night sky. 

_ This is how I die.  _

Ian was fully in his space, cheek pressed up against the shell of his ear, hot breath fanning over his neck. Mickey would’ve pushed him off, told him ‘not in public’, acted like Ian disgusted him but  _ fuck it _ . 

He could have this. For one night he was allowed to indulge, allowed to take more than just a sip. 

So he closed his eyes and let Ian dance with him, dance on him, use him for the duration of one song however he liked. Him and Ian had done plenty of things involving each others dicks at this point, but this was somehow more erotic. Maybe it was because they were surrounded by people, that this wasn’t behind closed doors where it was all hush hush and no one could see. Maybe it was because it wasn’t sex, but it was more intimate. It was them pushing into each other because gravitating towards one another was all they knew how to do. 

By the time the band was announcing they only had one more song left for the night, Mickey was very much ready to go home and get Gallagher to take care of the…  _ stiff  _ situation he had going on.

“This last song is for every one of you out there that’s had to give a big middle finger to the world just to be who you are. This is a big  _ fuck you!  _ to everyone who’s tried to make you someone you’re not, this is Buttercup!” 

The crowd cheered and started singing the opening chorus with the band. 

Ian still hadn’t taken his eyes off him, wasn’t even giving a shit about the band in the background. 

_ No holds barred in the ring so you’ll fight me  _

_ Give ‘em hell, give ‘em teeth like you taught me  _

_ Tireless mess seeking thrills getting bitey _

_ When I’m in doubt  _

He doesn’t know how it happened, wouldn’t be able to pinpoint when he moved, couldn’t even tell you who moved first. All he knows as that one second him and Ian are staring at each other, and the next Ian’s got his face cupped in his hands, his lips a hair away from Mickey’s. Ian’s looking at him like he’s searching for something in his eyes, permission, maybe.

So Mickey gives it to him. He nods once, a barely noticeable movement but Ian sees it. Ian notices. And the next thing he’s registering is Ian’s lips crashing into his own.

_ Pudgy face kissing lace in the backseat _

_ Wrinkled toss of a coin that I can’t see  _

Mickey moves one hand to wrap around Ian’s neck and tug him closer, his other hand situated on Ian’s waist, warmth blossoming under his fingers where they’re pressed into Ian’s back.

Mickey doesn’t think anyone’s lips should be that soft, but Ian’s are, and he doesn’t think having someone’s tongue pushing against yours should feel so nice, but it does, and he wants to stop thinking about how he could do this for the rest of his life, but he can’t. It’s all that’s going through his mind.

At any other point in his life, if someone were to ask Mickey Milkovich if there was such a thing as a merciful God he would’ve laughed and called himself a heretic. But standing there, Ian’s mouth moving languidly against his own and a band crooning about who the fuck knows what in the background, he would proudly say he was a believer.

Ian bit tentatively on his bottom lip, and Mickey groaned softly, pulling away to breathe before crashing back into Ian, somehow more violently than before.

They let their hands roam, Mickey’s moving out of their own accord, trying to map Ian underneath him. Ian had one hand fisted in Mickey’s hair, the other one still cupping his jaw, thumb brushing his cheekbone. Mickey could feel him everywhere.

The (not so) foreign dip in the pit of his stomach returned, making his nerves burn until they dissipated and he was left feeling nothing but Ian. 

When they pulled away they kept their foreheads pressed together, too scared to pull apart and draw a divide in the fabric of space and time where their bodies were infinitely connected.

Mickey breathed in deeply. He wasn’t allowed to feel this much. Milkovich’s weren’t allowed to think of shit like that. Feelings like those ( _ like love)  _ made people vulnerable.

He figured that was kind of the point.

“Ian, I-”

He didn’t know how to say what was going through his mind. Luckily, he didn’t have to, because Ian cut him off with a soft peck.

“Yeah, Mick. Me too.”

He smiled, soft and private, even with the crowds of people around them.

Ian turned back to the front as they finished playing the song, singing along softly. Something about him seemed brighter, something about the whole room seemed more saturated than it was before. The blue of Ian’s shirt, the lead singer’s purple hair, the red lights being cast over the crowd. Everything was so much…  _ more  _ than it had ever been.

Mickey figured it was just from the blood rushing to his head, that it was nothing.

But  _ fuck. _

He could’ve sworn on his goddamn life that Ian’s eyes had never looked so green.

+++ 

The days following the kiss were weird. 

Not because everything had suddenly become awkward between the two of them, or because they were ignoring the “kiss to end all kisses,” but because Ian took that to mean that they were now people who kissed on the regular. 

Saturday morning, the day after the concert, Mickey woke up with Ian plastered to his back, peppering soft kisses on his neck and his shoulders. That afternoon when he went home to his family, he announced his departure by giving Mickey a kiss goodbye. On Monday, Mickey was over at the Gallagher’s helping out with dinner. When he couldn’t reach a measuring cup in the top shelf, Ian brought it down and kissed him sweetly on the lips before moving away to go play with Liam. 

Thankfully, Gallagher wasn’t a fucking idiot. He made sure not to do any dumb shit whenever they were around other people. Or if someone  _ did _ happen to be around, he was always careful and made sure they weren’t looking. 

He was pretty sure Mandy was suspicious, anyways. She was always looking at them strangely, trying to figure out what was going on before Mickey actually told her. 

Not that he had any plans to tell her. 

But shit doesn’t ever fucking work out like he plans, does it? 

Him and Ian were watching a movie, and they were pretty fucking sure they were going to be alone for the foreseeable afternoon. Ian had sprawled out over the entire couch, and Mickey was seated in between his legs, Ian’s arms around his torso. 

During any particularly boring scenes of the film, Ian would bury his face into Mickey’s neck and lightly suck and bite and kiss it until he had a handful of light hickeys blooming across his skin. 

When the movie finished, Mickey turned around so he could kiss him properly. It was slow, lazy kissing. Just lips moving against lips. Kisses like these were more about simply being pressed together than getting anything out of what they were doing. 

Mickey rather liked them, it wasn’t often he got to do something with somebody else just for the sake of doing it, not because they were both expecting something to come from it. He knows Ian doesn’t, can tell by the way he smiles everytime Mickey leans into him, can tell by the way his hands never wander any lower than the middle of his back. 

Ian, whether Mickey wants to believe it or not, likes being around him just for the sake of being around him. 

Mickey pulled away and smiled at him, laying down on Ian’s chest and sighing contently when he feels Ian’s hand moving through his hair, the occasional kiss to his temple.

It was at that moment that Mandy decided to walk through the front door. 

“Hey Mickey have you- oh  _ hello  _ Ian!” 

Mickey sat up as fast as he could, but it was too late. There was no way he could shrug off the way him and Ian were wrapped around each other, and no way he could hide the hickeys on his neck. 

“Mandy-” 

Mandy has an evil grin pressing into her cheeks, eyebrows quirked in a manner that is distinctively  _ Milkovich  _ and Mickey is faced with the grim reminder that no matter how sweet Mandy seems, she’s still very much his sister. 

“I’m gonna go,” Ian says from under him, and Mickey realizes he’s still sat in his lap and groans. “See you tomorrow?” Ian asks tentatively, not knowing what boundaries to push in this situation. 

Mickey figures he’s already lying in his grave, and presses his lips to Ian’s forehead as a form of goodbye. 

He refuses to look up and see Mandy’s expression, already knows he’ll be met with an ‘I told you so’ expression even though she never told him jack fucking shit.

As soon as the door closes behind Ian, Mandy is quick to sit on the couch and occupy the space Ian had just emptied. She leaned forward, urging Mickey to spill before she asked. As if. 

“Mickey.” 

“Fuck off.”

“ _ Mickey _ .”

_ “Fuck off”   _

“When did this happen? Why didn’t you tell me?” She asked, excitement laced with a hint of sadness. Mickey really wished his coming outs to his sister weren’t as chaotic. Mostly he just wished they were on his own terms.

“I didn’t tell you because it’s none of your fucking business. Ian and I aren’t dating, we’re not fucking boyfriend and girlfriend. Him and I are friends that fuck from time to time, you get it? You should, considering all your friends’ dicks end up in you at some point or another.” It was cruel, but Mickey was starting to think that was going to be the common theme with his conversations with Mandy surrounding his sexuality.

“There’s too much I want to know about you and Ian to give a fuck about that statement right now. Mickey, you can’t  _ really  _ believe it’s just fucking with the two of you.”

“What else is it supposed to fuckin’ be?”

Mandy stared at him like he was an idiot. Maybe he was, but he wasn’t going to allow Mandy to know that. Mickey Milkovich wasn’t used to having to figure out his feelings.

“Dating? Love? Family? That sort of thing?”

Mickey scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Ian’s been family for years, Mandy.”

“So you’re not going to deny the love and dating?” She asked with a hopeful glint in her eyes. That was the thing with Mandy- Mickey could be an absolute dick to her (and he was) and she would still want the best for him. She would still hope he was loved and wanted and suddenly Mickey was overwhelmed with how lucky he was to have her. He pushed it down, not needing to give her any more ammunition than she already had in this conversation.

“We’re not in love and we’re not dating.” There, he denied it. It sounded weak even to his own ears, but he denied it. He was pretty sure it sounded weak to his sister, too.

“Okay. So you’re not dating,” she said but she sounded like she was making fun of him. Her tone disbelieving and incredulous.

“We’re not! Mandy, fuck, we aren’t, okay?”

“So the sweet goodbye kiss on his forehead was friendly?” She deadpanned, the phrase coming out as more of a statement than a question. She already knew the answer.

Mickey shrugged and felt a blush cover his cheeks. “Well. Just because it’s not friendly doesn’t mean it’s all of a sudden romantic and that Ian and I are about to skip down the street holdin’ hands-”

“No one’s askin’ you to, dick.”

“And we only kiss because we fuck. It’s sex, Mandy. It’s nothing more complicated than that.”

“So I should get up off this couch then? Because you were fucking on it, right?”

Mickey groans, cursing Mandy for being so adamant about something that’s, frankly,  _ none of her business _ . He ran his hands through his hair in frustration, not getting why Mandy needed to push this subject so badly. Who he was doing shit with didn’t involve her, he doesn’t get why she couldn’t just let it go.

Mandy had the decency to look apologetic, but she also had a knowing smirk adorning her features all the while.

“Mickey,” she started softly, “it’s okay if you like Ian.”

“But I don’t fuckin’  _ like Ian _ . Ian and I are friends, that’s fuckin’ it. No more, no less, and I don’t need  _ you  _ of all people bustin’ my balls over feelings I don’t even have.”

“Are you absolutely  _ sure  _ you don’t have any feelings? Like absolutely  _ positive _ ? I won’t tell anybody, pinky swear and all that shit.”

Mickey was about to open his mouth to tell Mandy the same exact thing he’s been saying this whole time, but he paused.  _ Does  _ he like Ian? And would it be so bad?

In reality, it probably wouldn’t be that bad, and it would probably only be an extension of what they’re already doing. They don’t go out on actual dates, but they do spend a lot of time together in contexts that… aren’t entirely  _ friendly _ .

“What would it change Mickey?”

Mickey thought about it. What  _ would  _ it change? He looked at Mandy, whose smile was open and inviting and for once non-judgemental, and shrugged.

“I mean… we kiss, we fuck, we spend time together, we love each other-”

“I knew it.”

“What?”

“Mickey, did you even listen to what you just fucking said?” 

Mickey raised an eyebrow in question. Obviously he knew what he fucking said. Him and Ian kiss, they fuck, they love each other and oh holy  _ shit. _

Mickey loves Ian. He  _ loves  _ him. Not in the brotherly, friend way he should. He would happily have Ian’s metaphorical gay babies, and it’s not as foreign of a thought as it should be. He should be terrified, he shouldn’t find fucking  _ comfort  _ in the thought, shouldn’t find it so familiar.

“Oh my god.”

Mandy’s eye were bright and her smile was genuine and kind. All things abnormal on a Milkovich, but very fitting for this moment. Mandy was a hopeless romantic, always had been. She’s always wanted to be in love, always wanted to find her “one”, and she’s genuinely happy when that happens for others, because she’s fucking insane.

“You have to tell him.”

“Oh absolutely fuck that.”

“Mickey!” She whined. “You have to let him know! Ian loves you too, y’know. I’m willing to bet you two are soulmates.”

Mickey sighed. “No, Mandy. I’m not going to tell Ian I’m in love with him on the off chance that he’s my fucking soulmate. That’s dumb as shit, and it would never work out. And I’m not even in love with him, shut up.”

“I literally didn’t say anything.”

“Didn’t I just tell you to shut the fuck up?” Mickey sighed as he made his way towards the door. He didn’t exactly know where he was going, just that Mandy was pissing him off, and he wanted to leave. He faintly heard Mandy laughing in their living room behind him and his feet carried him down the sidewalk.

He ended up at the abandoned building him and Ian spend so much time at. He was walking through the empty halls when he heard smashing coming from another room. He frowned, he knew he wasn’t the first person to discover this place, but he didn’t know of anybody else who used this area.

He walked into the other room and found Ian. Of course, because even when trying to escape his feelings for him he still can’t. Ian is everywhere. He’s always been everywhere.

“Mick, hey,” he said breathless. Sweat dripping down the side of his face from the effort he was exerting throwing rocks at the windows.

“Sup, Gallagher.”

Ian looked awkward, and Mickey hated it. He hated knowing why, he hated the fact that he would just make the awkwardness even worse when he grew enough balls to tell Ian how he really felt.

“How, uh. How did the talk with Mandy go?”

_ Oh wouldn’t you like to know? _

“Eh, it wasn’t so bad. She’s convinced we’re gonna get married and that we’re soulmates and all of that faggy shit. But other than that, y’know, it was fine.”

Ian grinned at him in faux innocence. “You don’t think we’ll get married, Mickey? You don’t wanna watch me walk down the aisle in a pretty white dress? Don’t wanna tell the world how much we  _ love  _ each other?” Ian punctuated the series of questions with a kiss, which left Mickey dumbfounded.

Because that’s  _ sweet _ . That’s what boyfriend’s do. That’s what people who love each other make jokes about and everything about it was just messing with Mickey’s head. It felt like everything up in his brain was swimming in murky water and just drowning, drowning, drowning. He wanted to swim to the surface so bad, but everything about his relationship with Ian was holding him firmly underwater.

Ian must’ve sensed his discomfort, because he pulled away from Mickey when he wasn’t kissing back, and frowned. 

“What’s wrong.” 

“Nothing.” 

“What’s wrong, Mick?” 

“Nothing, fire crotch, Jesus.” 

“Mickey…” 

And Jesus fuck could he not leave it alone? Mickey was tired of confrontations. One was enough for the next ten years, he didn’t need two in one  _ day _ . 

Ian leaned in again and started kissing the spot right below Mickey’s jaw, the place Ian knows makes Mickey come undone more than anything else. He moved up, tugging on his earlobe and whispering  _ come on, Mick  _ in his ear, which didn’t give Mickey a hard on in any way what so fucking ever. 

“What’s got you all bothered?” 

_ You.  _

“Are we dating?” 

Ian pulled away from his neck, and Mickey knew he had fucked up. He shouldn’t’ve said anything, he should’ve kept quiet. He’s such a dumbass. 

“Uh… I thought so?” 

And didn’t that just throw Mickey in for a fucking loop. 

“You did?” 

“I mean… yeah?” And Ian now looked sheepish as he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly and oh no this is not what Mickey wanted. He doesn’t want Ian to back away, he doesn’t want him to think his feelings are one sided. 

“Cool,” was all he could think to respond before he grabbed Ian by the front of his shirt and kissed his square on the mouth. It was rough, like most of their kisses are, but they were both smiling into it. They were kissing for the first time as something other than fuckbuddies, and isn’t that just fucking wild. 

“So…” 

“So?” 

“You wanna go out sometime?” 

“Oh, fuck  _ off,  _ Gallagher,” Mickey said as he shoved Ian away from him, but he was smiling which took away a lot of the heat. Maybe telling Ian he loved him wouldn’t be so bad. 

No way he was going to do it anytime soon, though. 

“Fuck off or fuck you?” Ian asked with a teasing smirk. 

Like he didn’t already know the answer. 

Mickey walked up to him slowly, taking his time to get to Ian, who was smiling like a dumbass. He put his hand on the back of Ian’s neck, pulled him down slowly towards him, kissed him anywhere but his lips before pulling away and resting his forehead against Ian’s in what was probably the faggiest display of affection possible. Ian didn’t waste any time staring in to his eyes, or whatever other bullshit he could’ve done, he just crashed their lips together violently. 

Ian pushed them back towards the wall, caging Mickey in so the only thing he could register was the cement wall against his back and Ian everywhere around him. 

It took him a minute to realize Gallagher was trying to unbutton his pants, and like hell he was going to take it up the ass in an abandoned building. 

He shook his head at Ian, “not here.” 

“What?” 

“I said  _ not here,  _ Gallagher, ya’ deaf now or somethin’? I’m not letting you fuck my ass without lube in an abandoned building.” 

“Wanna get into a bed, Mickey, is that it? Soft and slow?” 

“Fuck soft and slow I just don’t want my asshole ripped in fuckin’ half. I’ve seen what your packin’ no fuckin’ way we’re doin’ it without lube, bitch.” 

Ian laughed, throwing his head back and exposing the long column of his neck. He was beautiful, even if Mickey would never tell him. 

“Okay, Mick,” he said through a smile. “Let’s go home, I don’t think anybody is there right now."

“An empty Gallagher house? That’s surprising.” 

Ian shrugged, “yeah, well, if it’s not empty I’ll kick them out. Tell them me and my  _ boyfriend  _ have important business to attend to.” 

“Boyfriend?” 

“Mhmm” 

“Alright, fuck it, yeah, why not? Boyfriend it is. Now take me home and make sure it’s empty because I ain’t plannin’ on being fucking quiet.” 

Ian nodded and kissed him, smiling like a fucking idiot, before wrapping his hand around Mickey’s wrist and pulling him away from the empty lot. 

Mickey couldn’t resist the fond smile that crossed his face as he watched Ian drag him around. 

He was so fucked. 

+++

The first person they officially came out to was Debbie. Was it on purpose? Not necessarily, but at this point Mickey didn’t really care as much. He was with Ian, and maybe he wasn’t about to go shouting it from a rooftop, but he wasn’t ashamed of the fact, either. 

Mickey was sitting on the couch with Ian’s head in his lap, the red head complaining that he’d had a headache all day and  _ needed  _ to lay down. Mickey didn’t really care, and he wasn’t really paying attention to the boy resting on his thighs, either. 

When Debbie came downstairs, she was holding a book open, paying no mind to Ian sprawled across Mickey’s lap. 

“Ian, did you know sometimes people’s soulmates will die and color will get taken away? And also did you know some colorblind people never realize they’ve met their soulmate? Y’know, because they can’t see color?”

Ian just hums in agreement, not really caring at all about his little sister’s obsession rants. Debbie always goes through phases where she fixates on something for really no identifiable reason, it’s sometimes really fucking annoying, like when she went through her death phase. Soulmates isn’t too bad, every girl goes through a soulmate phase at one point or another.

“Oh! Did you know colors become brighter after you’ve kissed your soulmate? Most people don’t know this since they usually kiss upon meeting, but if you wait to kiss your soulmate you’ll realize how much more saturated? Saturated, yeah that’s right. How much more saturated things become.”

And now Mickey was listening. After him and Ian kissed, he remembers  _ swearing  _ that everything seemed brighter after they pulled away. Everything seemed…  _ more _ . More purple more blue more red. Ian seemed to glow in the light of the venue, the spotlights shined more intensely and  _ fuck his life  _ not only did he love Ian, he had a ‘written in the fucking stars’ reason to love Ian.

And Ian probably didn’t even realize this, the other boy wasn’t much perceptive, and now Mickey had to live with this realization, this  _ horror _ for the rest of his fucking  _ life  _ and his dumbass best friend (maybe his dumbass  _ soulmate  _ would never even know).

Mickey thinks back to his life, how every moment with Ian seems to exist in his memory more intensely, and he thinks maybe it never had anything to do with being best friends.

“I wonder if it’s possible to be friend soulmates. Like you and Mickey,” Debbie rattled off, not realizing just how much of her statement was probably right. 

“Mickey and I aren’t friends.” 

Debbie laughed, like this concept was absurd (which it fucking was, thank you very much, Gallagher). 

“Since when?” 

“Since he became my boyfriend.” 

Mickey felt his eyes bulge out of his head. He didn’t mind having people know, really he was fine with it, especially when it was just Debs, but he wasn’t expecting Ian to say  _ that  _ for fuck’s sake. He wasn’t expecting him to be shouting it from the rooftops. 

Or saying it out loud from the couch. 

Whatever. 

“Oh. Cool. Fiona and I had a bet about when that was going to happen. We were both wrong, but I was the closest. I said in a year, Fiona said three. You think I can still convince her to give me the money?” 

“You had a fuckin’ bet?” Mickey asks. Part of him thinks it’s funny, the other part thinks it’s ridiculous. To be fair, he always kind of figured it’d be him and Ian until the end. He didn’t really give a shit as to how they _ end _ together, just that they definitely do. 

Debbie shrugs. “Yeah. I mean, it’s been obvious since, like, always. Of course we saw this coming.” 

Mickey’s pretty sure he’s stepped into an alternate timeline. One where he has a boyfriend he’s in love with, one where people bet on his relationships, one where he actually  _ has a soulmate _ . None of this was anything he ever expected. Shit like this doesn’t happen for people like him. 

The weirdest thing is that Ian doesn’t seem even remotely phased by any of it. Like he always figured it would happen, like it was inevitable, like it’s not life altering in any way. He just smiles at Mickey, picks up his hand and kisses his palm before bringing it down to his chest and lacing their fingers together. 

And, yeah, this is not Mickey’s universe. 

“Okay, Gallagher, we’re together but that doesn’t mean we have to do this gay shit, man.” 

Ian continued grinning up at him as he leaned up and kissed him lightly on his chin, as far as he could reach without sitting up properly. 

Everything about it was so sweet and Mickey fucking hated it. He hated that he liked it so much. He hated that whenever Ian pulled a move like that he couldn’t help but imagine them together for the rest of their lives, which is so fucking frightening he can’t even begin to explain it. 

The rest of the afternoon goes by smoothly. Debbie, apparently, told the rest of the Gallagher family about their relationship development, and Fiona  _ did  _ give her the bet money. Lip wasn’t too happy about it, but Lip is an asshole, so that’s not shocking. And it’s not like he didn’t already know they were fucking, he’s known for weeks, so Mickey doesn’t get why he’s so pissed off about it. 

As Mickey was halfway down the stairs, he heard the front door open behind him. He turned around and found Ian standing shyly in the doorway. He raised an eyebrow at him, waiting for Ian to say something or do anything other than stand there like a lost puppy. 

Ian blushed before sheepishly walking off the porch and down the staircase before stopping in front of Mickey and cupping his face in both hands. He leaned in, stopping just a breath away from Mickey’s lips. Mickey closed his eyes and leaned forward, closing the distance between them and pressing his lips against Ian’s. 

The kiss didn’t last long, and it never grew beyond just lips moving against each other. Mickey didn’t notice when his hand fisted in Ian’s t-shirt, and he didn’t notice when Ian’s hand moved back to rest on his neck. When they pulled away, Mickey didn’t notice he was chasing Ian’s mouth until he landed another kiss on it. As he walked down the path and toward his house, he also made sure not to notice Fiona smiling knowingly from the window. 

He didn’t notice any of it. 

+++ 

It was about three weeks after they came out to Ian’s family, and since then Ian’s been way more open about them. They went on a fucking  _ date,  _ one where they get dressed up and eat with fuckin’ utensils and then they went home and Mickey blew him afterwards. They would have dinner at the Gallagher’s every Friday night without fail, and Mickey was slowly starting to warm up to the idea of telling Ian he loved him. 

Any day now and it would probably just slip out.

He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to hold it back when he walks out of his room and there’s Ian making breakfast for them and Mandy in Mickey’s kitchen shirtless. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to hold it back when Ian’s slipping into his bed and wrapping around him nearly every night.

Everything Ian does, everything they do together, makes Mickey want to tell him how he feels, but he still doesn’t know if Ian would say it back. He’s also come to terms with their soulmate status, but Ian still seems unaware of it all.

Or, if he  _ is  _ aware, he hasn’t made any effort to talk about it. 

Mickey was sitting at the kitchen table wiping down his gun when Ian burst in through the front door. He was panting and sweating, which is odd because they don’t really live that far away from each other, so Ian probably sprinted. 

Which, again, odd. 

Sure, Ian’s enthusiastic about their relationship, but this is not something Mickey sees frequently. 

“What the fuck’s gotten into you, man?” 

Ian took a deep breath, tried to settle himself so he could talk. When he did start talking, it was so fast Mickey could barely keep up. 

“Listen, Mick, I know you’re probably not really gonna like it since you’ve never really been the biggest fan of, like, soulmates but I just really need you to hear me out here because I don’t want anything to come between us but I also don’t want to pretend like this isn’t a real possibility here but I think that maybe we might be soulmates and listen I  _ know  _ that sounds wacky but look Fiona found this photo in the basement and I think it’s you in the picture so it’s, like, me and you as kids, y’know and I just- I just. Mick, I think we’re soulmates.” 

Mickey just stood there dumbfounded. He didn’t know what to say, he always expect he’d be the one to confront Ian about it, to tell him and now Ian’s saying he  _ knows  _ and that he’s worried Mickey won’t like it. 

Ye of little fuckin’ faith, Gallagher. 

“Yeah, firecrotch, I know that.” 

“You… you do?” 

“Yeah. I’ve known for a while too.” 

“Wh- how? Like, you can’t possibly have made the same connection because I don’t think you have the same photo and, honestly, I’m kind of pissed you wouldn’t tell me-” 

“Gallagher?” 

“What?”

“Shut the fuck up.” 

And, yeah, Mickey’s usually pretty crude, but maybe telling Ian to shut the fuck up when he’s already worried that he doesn’t want to be with him wasn’t the smartest idea. 

“Mickey-” 

“No, Ian, listen. I  _ love  _ you. You get that?  _ I love you.  _ I have since before I realized we were destined to fuckin’ be together, and I will even if you’re wrong.” 

“You do?” 

“Yeah.” 

“You love me?” And now Ian was grinning wickedly, walking closer to Mickey and putting his hands on his hips, holding him in place. 

“Fuck, Gallagher, didn’t I just say that?” Mickey said, but he was smiling, too. He told Ian he loved him, and shit didn’t hit the fan. Ian seemed happy, even if he wasn’t saying it back. Mickey was fine with him never telling him he loved him so long as Ian never stopped smiling down at him like that. 

“Yeah, but I wanna hear it again.” 

“I love you.” 

Ian kissed him before he could finish getting the  _ ‘you’ _ out of his mouth. It was rough and aggressive and biting and exactly what Mickey always craves from him. Ian pushed him back until they reached a wall and continued to kiss him, moving down so he could plant hickey’s on his neck. 

“ _ Bed _ ,” Mickey managed to mutter out, breathless and whispered. 

“Yes.  _ Yes,  _ bed let’s go.” 

They didn’t move away from each other, though. Keeping their lips connected as they walked back towards Mickey’s bedroom, kissing becoming more and more aggressive as they moved. 

When they reached Mickey’s bed they were both shirtless and already panting. Ian moved to pull of Mickey’s pants, leaning down in a move to suck him off, but Mickey stopped him. 

“I want you to fuck me, Gallagher.” 

Ian’s eyes darkened, his pupils clouded over with  _ want  _ and Mickey was a little overwhelmed having someone looking at him like that. 

“Fuck. Fuck, yeah, okay,  _ yes.  _ Shit, I love you, too, y’know that?” 

“All it took for you to say you loved me was offerin’ up my ass to you. Jesus Christ, Gallagher.” 

“Shut up. Shut up and lean back so I can prep you, where’s your lube.” Ian didn’t even wait for his answer before he was already moving around the room in search for lube, opening every drawer he could reach in search of it. 

“It’s under my bed, man, Mandy’s nosey ass... I couldn’t let her find it.” 

Ian wasted no time getting under the bed and popping back up with the bottle of lube in his hand. He grinned devilishly, wiggling the lube in his hand like an idiot. 

He moved towards Mickey slowly, raking his eyes up and down Mickey’s naked body like he had all the time in the world to do so. 

Ian got to him and started placing slow kisses on his thighs, revelling in the way Mickey’s legs kept twitching. 

“Wrap them around me.” And  _ fuck _ , Mickey didn’t need to be told twice. He wrapped his legs around Ian’s neck, locking him in place in between his thighs. 

Ian was quick to move from kissing the pale expanse of Mickey’s inner thighs to sucking and biting at the skin. Mickey wanted him to stop taking his time, wanted him to be  _ inside him already, goddamnit.  _ But he knew this was important for Ian. This slow, sensual shit was important to him, he liked feeling  _ loved _ , and Mickey was one soft motherfucker when it came to loving Ian. 

But even he had his limits, hissing at Ian to  _ get on with it already.  _ Ian was at least good at taking orders, because he pulled back as far as Mickey’s legs allowed him to move and brought his hand up to Mickey’s entrance, pressing his thumb against it lightly.

Mickey shivered from the touch, trying to move towards the pressure, wanting  _ more _ . 

Ian gave it to him, pressing a lubed finger in him slowly, letting Mickey get used to it. Once he felt Mickey wasn’t trying to get comfortable, Ian started to thrust his finger in and out, taking his time before pressing in a second finger. 

Two fingers Mickey could still handle with relative ease. Sure, it was a little uncomfortable, but two he could handle, it was when Ian started inching in a third that the stretch started feeling like too much. 

Thank fucking God Ian noticed, though, and started thrusting slower, moving up so he could suck Mickey’s dick to distract him from the pain. 

Only issue with that, though, is that Mickey didn’t know if he’d be able to hold back from coming with Ian’s lips wrapped around his cock and three of his fingers rubbing against his prostate. 

Ian kept taking him deeper, timing up his thrusts with the bobs of his head, and it was driving Mickey crazy. 

“Ian move off or I’m gonna come, man,” he told Ian, trying to ignore the wavering quiver in his own voice. 

Ian did no such thing. Instead, he pulled off Mickey’s dick with a  _ pop _ , smirked, and then immediately took him all the way down, curling his fingers and rubbing them relentlessly against Mickey’s prostate. 

Mickey knew he wasn’t going to last like this, but he didn’t know if he’d be able to come  _ again  _ when Ian fucked him. 

And now way was Ian not fucking him. 

“Ian  _ please _ ,” he whined, but Ian didn’t care. He kept taking him as deep as he possibly could, thrusting his fingers in and out quickly. 

It didn’t take much more before Mickey came, shooting down Ian’s throat, head thrown back in ecstasy. Ian swallowed, but didn’t pull off, continuing to suck at the head of Mickey’s now over sensitive dick, slowly making his way down again. 

Mickey was only nineteen, it didn’t take much longer until he was hard again and ready to go. So much for being worried about whether he’d able to go again. 

“I’m ready.  _ Fuck. Me.”  _

“Okay, baby, Jesus,” Ian says as he pulls off and removes his fingers. Mickey has no time to unpack how being called  _ baby  _ in this context makes him feel, because Ian is there again, pressing into his entrance, cock covered in lube. 

When he bottoms out, Mickey sees stars. He didn’t realize how much he’d wanted this until he got it. Ian’s thrusts were slow, sensual,  _ romantic _ . It was nice, but Mickey wasn’t looking for  _ nice _ . He wanted to have his brains fucked out. He said as much, and Ian just huffed and rolled his eyes, and that’s when Mickey realized he was going so slowly so as not to blow too early. 

It was kind of flattering, that he was really that into it. Mickey appreciated it, but he would appreciate it more if he could put his dick to proper use. 

“Ian, if you don’t go any faster I’ll just fuck myself.” 

Ian, thank the fucking Lord, took that as a challenge and increased the speed of his thrusts, changing his angle so that every thrust hit Mickey’s prostate head on. 

_ Yeah _ , this is what he was talking about. 

It was fast and dirty and still so personal, somehow. Mickey was reveling in it. His head was thrown back, mouth hanging open. He was trying his hardest to keep his eyes from squeezing shut so he could watch Ian. 

Ian who was so focused on making this good for him, who’s eyebrows were drawn together, who kept moaning affirmation, telling him how good he felt on his cock, how pretty he was underneath him. 

Mickey was flushed and flustered, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Ian was fucking him exactly how he wanted, and he wasn’t going to last much longer. He wrapped a hand around himself, jerking in time with Ian’s thrusts, thrusts that kept becoming more erratic. It wasn’t much longer before they both came, Mickey spilling all over his head and his chest, and Ian in the condom.

They were both breathing heavy and staring at each other, before Ian collapsed on top of him and started laughing and kissing him wherever he could reach. 

“I love you,” he said with every kiss, repeating it like a mantra, breathing it into every crevice on Mickey’s body. 

Mickey was too blissed out to bother poking fun at Ian for how gay he was being, it didn’t seem worth it, especially since he was pretty sure if he complained that would mean Ian would stop kissing him, and fuck that entirely. 

“I can’t believe the first time we fuck facing each other is after saying  _ I love you _ . Do you know how gay that is?” 

“Mickey, _ we’re _ gay.” 

“Shut the fuck up, Gallagher.” 

“Make me.”

“Later, I’m too tired and too fuckin’ comfortable layin’ on your ass.” 

“I love that you’re a cuddler,” Ian mocked, pulling the cigarette they were passing back and forth from out of Mickey’s hands. Mickey would die before calling himself a cuddler, but laying here pressed against Ian’s chest… he gets the appeal, alright? 

He was enjoying the quiet, enjoying sitting there, the only thing he could hear being Ian’s heart beat and his breathing. He enjoyed not having to think of anything but exactly what was happening for once. He wasn’t worried about anyone walking in and beating the fuck out of them, he wasn’t worried about how he was gonna pay the bills this month (though he should be). 

The only thing on his mind was Ian and the fuckfest they just had. 

And then the Gallagher in question had to go and ruin everything. 

“How did you know we were soulmates?"

Mickey sighed, he didn’t want to be subject to this conversation, especially not right now. But he knew it had to happen eventually, sooner or later, on the off chance they weren’t soulmates, or whatever. 

“Well, I… didn’t. Not 100%, at least. I just sort of assumed after I realized I, like, loved you ‘n shit because I thought love could only happen if you were fated to fucking be. So, y’know. And then Debbie was talking about how colors get brighter after you kiss or whatever, and everything was brighter after the concert. Yeah.” 

Mickey couldn’t bear to look at Ian as he spoke, it was already embarrassing to spill his guts out like that, he couldn’t fucking hold eye contact, too. He could feel his cheeks warming up, and he could feel Ian’s smile where he was pressing it into his neck. 

“You were so in love with me you looked for any sign we were destined to be, huh? You wanted me that badly-” 

“Now I never fuckin’ said any of that.” 

“You didn’t  _ not  _ say it either.” 

“Bitch that makes no fucking sense Ian what I- if I didn’t say it then I didn’t say it.” 

“Okay but you didn’t deny anything I said.” 

“Yeah alright, smart ass.” 

Ian was silent for a beat, and Mickey knew he was thinking of what to say next. He was holding himself too stiffly to be relaxed. Mickey waited with baited breath to find out what was going through the redheads brain. 

“Don’t you want to know how I know?” He asked tentatively, like there was a chance Mickey was going to say no. 

Ian’s a fucking idiot. 

“Obviously, Gallagher.” 

He felt Ian relax behind him and release a shaky exhale. “Cool.” 

“You gonna tell me or am I supposed to fuckin’ guess?” 

“Right! Well, I was going through some boxes in the basement and I found this one photo album and I pulled it out and I was looking through it in the kitchen while Fiona was making sandwiches. Anyway, there was this one photo of me hugging a little boy at a park and Fiona looked at it and went  _ ‘oh I remember that day. You pulled away from that hug screaming that my shirt was like the sky, and I remember being like  _ duh, Ian  _ they’re both grey’  _ but then in the next photo, Fiona was in a blue shirt. So I figured that was the day I met my soulmate and then I looked at the photo and it was  _ you _ , Mick. It was you and I was so shocked but not really and then I ran here.” He finished his story with a sheepish shrug and Mickey can’t believe this is the boy he’s in love with. 

“You’re such a fucking idiot, Gallagher.” 

“You love me.” 

Mickey smiles. 

“Yeah, I just fuckin’ might.”

**Author's Note:**

> hey hello i hope u liked it! this was my first sort of big fic and im honestly pretty proud of it. she's my baby, y'all. leave a comment & kudos if u liked it, those make my day!! xoxo 
> 
> i have a tumblr btw its @lucasdemaurys its not shameless but u can reach me there if u want


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